


Cullen Rutherford: Inquisitor

by Ophiel



Series: Cullen Rutherford: Inquisitor [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Plot Twists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 54
Words: 293,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5224775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophiel/pseuds/Ophiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am in the midst of editing this work. I've progressed a bit as a writer and I really want to rework this. If you see single spaces between lines, I have edited that segment. If you see double spaces, it ls unedited. Please check back for improvements!</p><p>========</p><div class="center">
  <p>In a bizarre twist of fate, Commander Rutherford found himself once more at the centre of events that would shake the world. With no memory of how he came to possess a magic mark, a conclave destroyed, and millions of the faithful calling him Herald and then Inquisitor, he must now mend the sky and stop the world from falling to pieces.</p>
  <p>After Kirkwall, how much worse could it be?</p>
  <div class="center">
    <p>  <img/><br/></p>
  </div>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cullen's Mark

There was pain. A lot of pain. As the world swam into focus in Cullen’s mind, he remembered the pain. Actually, there had been more pain, it wasn’t so bad now. His face was still stinging with what felt like a relatively recent cut across his cheek. There was cold stone against his cheek, the damp chill seeping into his bones through the leathers. Hiw body twisted uncomfortably as he lay down in armour. Cullen groaned and sat up, finding his hands manacled together at the wrist. He blinked to get his bearings, and saw the soldiers around him, swords drawn and leveled at him. He knew those soldiers, but they eyed him with fear and suspicion. “What is the meaning of this?” he barked. “Get these things off me, that’s an order!”

They did not move, their grips on their swords tightening. Cullen moved so he was sitting on his knees, trying to free his hands from the manacles.

“Don’t do that, ser,” said a soldier, gripping his sword. “We… if you do that, we’ll have to take steps.”

“What are you-” Cullen snapped. The pain came like fire searing up the veins of his arm. Green light flashed from his hand like fire flaring from his flesh. He cried out, whether startled or in agony he didn't know. He fell back onto the ground, holding his hand away from himself. It went on sparking as he stared at it blazing like a green sun and then sputtered away. He was breathing hard, watching his hand as if fearing it would glow again. "What in the Maker's name..." he croaked, his voice hoarse.

"That's why you need to stay calm, ser," said the soldier. "The knife ea-- The elf said it sparks sometimes. Try not to make a fuss. Please, we don't want to do anything."

Cullen's breath was rasping between his teeth. He swallowed, staring at his hand like man trapped with a wild beast. He forced himself to sit up straight, his wild eyes never leaving his palm as the fire in his veins began to dim and vanish. This was like a nightmare! He was no mage!

The Chantry door burst open with clanging wood and steel. Cullen blinked in the sudden light from the braziers beyond, seeing a familiar silhouette in the door. Two silhouettes. “Cassandra! Leliana!” he breathed in relief, holding his hand away from himself. “By the Maker - What is-” His voice fell silent at the sight of her face.

She stepped into the torch light, eyes glinting with rage and betrayal, her hand on the pommel of her sword. Leliana stood behind her, her face as ambivalent as ever. Leliana nodded at the soldiers, who sheathed their swords. With her dark eyes glittering like onyx, Cassandra paced around him, as it taking in the sight of him manacled on the floor. He could feel the hostility from her, the brightly burning dull rage the radiated from the Seeker stilled his words. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she growled as she stepped beside him, her voice in his ear.

“Kill me?” he blinked, feeling the panic starting to rise as they paced around him. “On what charge?”

“On what charge?" she exclaimed. "I brought you from Kirkwall to serve the Inquisition, and this is how you repay me? The conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead.” Her finger leveled at his face. “Except for you.”

“What are you talking about?” Cullen breathed, feeling himself on the edge of a yawning pit of panic as the news sank in. He pulled himself together. "How?” he shook his head. “And the Divine? Get me out of these things, Cassandra, there are duties I must do if this is true--”

“What duties?” Cassandra asked, folding her arms. 

Cullen’s eyes widened as he looked up at her. “You think I’m responsible,” he droned with a leaden voice. “Cassandra, this is madness!”

She grabbed his wrist and lifted it. He winced sharply as the… thing sparked off again. Such dramatic convenience, he couldn’t help but drily note. If it didn't sting like the void, he would have been quite annoyed. “Explain this,” she growled. She shoved his sparking hand down again. He stared at the glowing mark as he held his hand away from him, squeezing his fist shut to stem the glow. He could feel the tides of panic rising within him. Magic on him - in him - he couldn't stop it. And what Cassandra was accusing him of was beyond reason! Think. Just think. Commander's don't panic. 

“I can’t explain it,” he said through grit teeth.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Cassandra demanded.

The deeper Cullen pushed his panic, the faster anger bouyed up in its place. “I don’t know what that is or how it got there!”

“You’re lying!” Cassandra snarled, grabbing his shoulders. Cullen felt so close to hitting her then, were it not for the manacles.

Leliana was there, pulling Cassandra back. “We need him Cassandra!” she said and turned to him as Cassandra backed off.

“Cullen,” she began, turning to him.  

“Leliana, what’s going on?” he demanded. Surely one of them would see reason. 

“They are all dead, Cullen. Everyone in the Conclave. It happened after you left base camp. Do you remember anything at all?” Leliana asked, folding her arms. “How this began?”

Cullen felt the fire of his anger dim as he tried to recall. Yet there were no solid memories, it felt like a dream, details forgotten upon waking, only vague certainties of flashing images in his mind. He frowned in puzzlement. Why couldn’t he remember… “I remember going to the Conclave to meet with the Knight Commander,” he muttered. “Then… Then I was running… There were…” Shadows in the dark, memories on the edge of fear, slipping out of his grasp. Like trying to catch smoke. He winced, his head splitting from the lack of lyrium and now this. “There were things chasing me. And then… a woman…” 

“A woman?” Leliana tilted her head.

“Some woman. I have no memory of her beyond that she was a woman,” Cullen said, looking at the stilled mark on his hand. He wanted a tincture for his headache. And a drink. Or both. He sighed and shook his head. “There is nothing else. Nothing of her, of this thing on my hand. Nothing." 

Cassandra moved to Leliana. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” she said quietly, seeming to have calmed down. “I will take him to the rift.”

Leliana glanced at him, her eyes searching, then nodded. She turned and walked away, leaving him with Cassandra. He looked up at her. “Well?" he asked. "What now, Seeker? Is it my turn for questions?”

"You sound brave for a man accused and manacled." There was irony in her voice. 

"I don't even know what happened!" Cullen snapped. "Or what I'm accused of!"

"Destroying the Conclave."

"That is ludicrous!" Cullen barked, his manacles clanking as he waved his hands in frustration. "How could that even be done?"

Cassandra sighed. “It would be easier to show you,” she said, kneeling down to unlock his manacles. "And then that may be something we will discuss." Cullen heard the soldiers loosen their swords in their sheathes. What was good, he just wished he wasn’t on the receiving end of their subtle warning.

“When we get to the War Chamber, we--”

"We will not," she said, binding his wrists with ropes.  "You are not Commander any longer."

Cullen glared at her. Too many questions rose. He picked the most pertinent one. "Then who’s commanding the forces?”

“We found someone for the interim." She pulled him to his feet "Now, come with me.”

Cullen followed her out of Haven’s Chantry jails, leaving his jailers behind. The instant the chantry doors to the outside opened, light stung his eyes and set off fireworks of pain in his head. He stepped out into the snow, blinking and shielding his eyes. Then he saw the sky. His footsteps stilled, his heart hammered in his ears. The sky yawned above them, a hole gaping green in the heart of the heavens. From the wound came comets of black rock ablaze with green flame.

“We call it the Breach,” Cassandra said as she stood next to him, her eyes raised as his was. “It is a massive rift to the Fade which grows larger with each passing hour, pouring demons into our world. It’s not the only such rift, but it is the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“No explosion can do this,” Cullen murmured, watching the roiling sky. “What manner of magic caused this?”

“This one did,” Cassandra looked at him. “As to the manner of magic, we were hoping you could tell us.”

He glanced at her. "As a Templar or as one accused of magic?"

"I do not know," she said, her voice sombre. 

The scarred sky flared then and Cullen cried out, his hand stretched out and stiff as the fire in his nerves burned to his very neck. He sank to his knees as he gripped his hand, clenching it into a fist as he curled over it, gritting his teeth. “Maker’s breath!” he gasped. “Andraste, preserve me. Maker, turn your eye to me - wake me up from this.”

Cassandra knelt beside him. “Every time the Breach expands, that mark spreads - and it is killing you, Cullen.”

“It feels like it,” Cullen grunted, feeling the fire in his arm stilling. He breathed hard, looking down at his hand. The blasted thing had burned through the leather of his gloves. “And you still think I did this?” he demanded, his honeyed eyes blazing. “To myself?”

Cassandra put her hand on his shoulder. “Not intentionally, perhaps. Something clearly went wrong. It may be the key to stopping this, Cullen,” she said, her dark eyes locking on his. “But there isn’t much time.”

“And how do we stop this?”

“We close the Breach, if that’s even possible.” Her grip on his shoulder tightened in determination. “But this is our only chance, and yours. You wish to prove your innocence? Help us.”

Cullen grit his teeth and glared at her, his head throbbing and his nerves on fire. “I am no mage,” he growled. "These charges are ludicrous. But..." He sighed. “But I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes. Was that not the promise I made in Kirkwall?”

The slight smile on Casandra’s face belied her relief. She helped him to his feet. “Come, we should reach the forward camp soon. Ser Trevelyan is holding the line at the head of the Inquisition Forces for now. She was the one who found you in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“Trevelyan?” Cullen asked as he was dragged forward by the elbow. He saw the faces of the people of Haven looking at him, deep suspicion in their eyes. It made him feel naked and angry - did they really thought he did this? He was a Knight Templar! He was Commander of the Inquisition forces! Though… he wasn’t any more. He turned back to Cassandra, drawing his eyes away from the villager's. “She’s Knight Commander of Ostwick, why wasn’t she at the Conclave?”

“Her boat was late,” Cassandra said simply. “Come, the quicker we get to the gates of Haven, the better. The people need someone to blame. I would rather they not take justice into their own hands.”

“Justice?” Cullen said cynically as they came up to the gates. “Is that’s what awaits me, Seeker? Justice? With this thing on my hand?”

The gates slammed shut behind him. Once away from their accusing eyes, Cullen felt a weight drop from his shoulders, though his back still ached and he head was killing him. Cassandra turned and drew her dagger. “There will be a trial,” she said softly and cut his bonds. Cullen rubbed his wrists and looked at her. For the first time since he’d known her, she looked uncertain. She met his gaze. “I can promise you no more.”

As she turned from him, he wrapped himself in the dull anger that burned in him. One thing after another, and now his hand was on fire. He thought he left all the madness of Kirkwall behind and yet here he was. He looked up at the Breach, his jaw set. Let’s see if this accursed mark was worth the pain.

They made their way out of Haven, climbing the path towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Cullen looked up at the sky, the Breach swirling gently overhead, so deceptively beautiful. He ran with Cassandra, huffing in his armour. “How did I survive the blast?” he asked her, the mark on his hand flickering with the sky.

“They say you stepped out of a rift,” Cassandra replied seriously. “They say there was a woman behind you. No one knows who she was. Every-”

The sky burst overhead with green flame. Cullen cried out in agony, his body on fire as he staggered and fell in the snow. “Andraste’s blood!” he swore, gripping his wrist and gritting his teeth until the pain faded. Cassandra took his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“The pulses are coming faster now,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “Can you make it?”

“I have no choice, do I?” Cullen asked, flexing his hand to chase the quivers away, his face pale. Whatever in the void this thing was, he wanted it gone! He looked at Cassandra. “We have a ways to go yet, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” she said, walking on with him as they came to a bridge. “Everything in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple. We will have to find another path around.” Cullen nodded. As they made their way across the bridge, Cullen felt the familiar tingle in his hand. “Cass-” he began and then the comet hit. Black stone blasted the bridge, sending him tumbling painfully down a pile of debris. He rolled to a stop on the frozen river and groaned, his ears ringing from a blow to his head. He stood up unsteadily as Cassandra pulled herself to her feet. A comet smashed into the frozen river then, the black rock turning into creeping tendrils of darkness that bubbled upon the ice. A thing rose from it black, murky, screaming with ancient malice. “Demon!” Cullen growled. “I need a weapon!”

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra commanded, drawing her sword and shield and charging the demon.

“Seeker!” he shouted. Cullen felt the mark on his hand burning as a glowing puddle of darkness bubbled near him. He looked around and saw what he needed, a supply crate that had fallen during the bridge collapse. Within the broken crate, steel glinted. He ran towards it and pulled out a sword from within. Also convenient. Maybe the Maker was smiling on him after all - even if it was a cynical bastardly smile as the Maker enjoyed his pain. The demon clawed out of the darkness. Cullen sword did not wait for it to rise. He slashed at the demon’s head. The demon clawed at him, trying to straighten up. Cullen parried the strike and with a sword in his other hand, he drove it into the demon’s side, piercing the tough hide between the bony armour scales. He pulled both swords out of the demon, ducking a claw strike to his side. He slashed across the demon’s face, putrid black blood spraying him. Then the demon fell with a horrible shriek. In the middle of the frozen river, Cassandra was striking down the demon she faced.

“So, the thing really does spew out demons,” Cullen said, coming up behind her, his two swords bloodied.

She turned and pointed her sword at him, on guard.

Cullen backed away, forcing himself not to raise his own weapons. He eyed the tip of the sword coldly. “You trusted me before,” he said evenly, his two swords held calmly by his side. “Have you seen me do anything to betray that trust?”

Cassandra’s dark eyes glittered and she sighed. “No,” she replied. “You have not. I do not know what to believe about you, Cullen.” She sheathed her blade.

“Me neither,” Cullen replied, tucking the two swords in his belt.

Cassandra chuckled. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“Puzzlement loves company,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s go. This day cannot get any stranger.”

“Don’t hold out hope,” she smiled at him and led him along the frozen river.

 

++++

 

Their journey up the mountain was punctuated by more comets and demons. Cullen’s arm was soaked to the elbow in blood and his damned mark was stinging like blazes. They came to a crest in the path and saw before them flashing green from a open rift beyond. Already there were soldiers and others engaged in a skirmish with the screaming creatures crawling from the rift. His mark started to sputter green fire as the rift came into view. He recognized Varric and Bianca, but there was a bald elf mage and a templar fighting as well. Above them, like a watching eye, a rift glowered down, spitting green fire and black shards of crystal. Cullen drew both his swords. He didn’t stop to think. He charged, jumping from the crest and down into the fray. His two swords flashing in the green light as he attacked.

“Curly!” he heard Varric call as Cullen charged a demon, parrying a strike with one sword. A crossbow bolt pierced the demon’s head and it fell dead. “Nice to see you’re not dead!”

“Not now, dwarf!” Cullen grated, charging the next demon. Behind him he could hear Cassandra engaged with her own fight. He blocked a strike from the demon and his second blade caught the demon in the leg. The beast towered above him, spindly and green. Cullen aimed for the tendons, ducking out of the way of a clawed swipe and slicing the back of its knee.

He glanced at his feet, some sort of bubbling green pool swirled around his ankles. Then someone barreled into him as the green burst into flames from under his feet. He rolled in the snow, careful to make sure he didn’t stab himself with the swords. He winced as he came to a stop on his back and looked up at the face above him.

Blue eyes stared down at him from a face that was slightly scarred across the forehead, barely visible under a mass of flowing black hair. “Don’t stand on the green things!” she snapped at him and climbed off him, blushing slightly. Cullen pulled himself to his feet and saw the woman run to a greatsword dropped in the snow. She snarled as she charged the wounded demon and slashed it with a mighty swing. It screamed and faded into the rift, like all the other demons before it. For a moment, the area was clear of demons.

Cullen sheathed his swords. “Quickly!” said the elf, marching up to him. Cullen blinked. The elf grabbed his hand with the mark and held it out to the rift. Cullen grunted as he felt something pulling out of him through the mark - a piece of himself fueling the fire that flared from the mark as it reacted to the presence of the rift. The rift snapped and flared violently, ripping at the air before it burst and tore itself asunder. Cullen felt his mark freed from the grip of the magic. He pulled his hand away from the elf, staring at him and breathing hart as his heart hammered in his chest. Then he looked down at the mark. “Was that-” he began in a hollow voice, holding his hand away from himself. “What was that- Magic?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said the elf urbanely. “The mark has closed the rift, it appears my theory was correct after all.”

Cullen stared at the elf. “This thing did that?” he asked. But it wasn’t just the thing - he felt part of himself in that power. It was not unlike the ebbing of lyrium in the blood.

“Which means it can be used on the Breach,” Cassandra murmured thoughtfully, coming up to Cullen.

 “Good to know, and here I thought we were going to be ass deep in demons forever,” Varric chuckled, shouldering Bianca as he joined them as well. “Well, Curly, it seems you’re going to be of more help after all.”

“This is no laughing matter, Varric!” Cullen snapped, his hand feeling strange. He rubbed at the mark, which only made it hurt more. Damn.

“Nevertheless,” said the elf. “Master Varric is correct.” The elf smiled at Cullen. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,” Varric said helpfully.

"Solas is an apostate," Cassandra explained. "He arrived just in time to keep the mark from destroying your shield arm."

“Can you get it off me?” Cullen asked quickly. "Is this some sort of blood magic?"

Solas shook his head no. “Yes, it seems to be a form of magic, though it's exact nature we cannot determine as yet. As for getting it off you, we must see if we still have need of it yet.” Solas looked at Cassandra. “Seeker, your Commander is no mage. Indeed, I cannot imagine any mage having this much power.”

“Understood,” Cassandra sighed.

Then the woman came up to them. She was of slight build but wearing Templar plate. Her greatsword was nearly taller than she was. She looked up at Cullen with thoughtful eyes. “You’re taller than expected,” she said to him suddenly. “But then again, when I carried you from the rift, you were very horizontal so I guess I can’t judge. You were flopping all over the place.”

Cullen blinked, staring at her, his mind painting a strange image indeed. "Flopping?" he managed.

"Because you were unconscious," she provided helpfully. 

“You have to excuse Curly, Ser Trevelyan,” Varric chuckled. “He doesn’t talk to women much.”

Evelyn laughed. Cullen felt his cheeks heat up. “T-this isn’t the time for this!” he grated.

“True. Let’s head to the temple,” Cassandra said evenly. “We haven’t much time - we must close the Breach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts and comments on where this should go? Cullen would be a pretty... weird Inquisitor to say the least.


	2. Andraste Preserves Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach is sealed and Cullen wakes to the horrifying realization that it all wasn't a lyrium-withdrawal addled dream.

It was a wasteland. Cullen walked across the stones, their sharp edges honed by the blast cracking underfoot, the ground glittering with glass. He had acquired a shield from the forward camp, holding it far more comfortably than two swords. Judging from the state of the crater, a shield would have served those gathered here little during the explosion.

There were dead here, twisted like frozen statues, their skin hewn from their flesh by the explosion. Their faces screamed to the roiling heavens while their eyes still burned. Cullen turned away from them. Behind him, Cassandra, Varric and Solas followed them. They walked past the bodies of the dead and descended some blasted stairs. It was then that he saw the Breach from below, swirling overhead like a baleful eye, watching him in return as he gazed into its heart. 

Shards of Fade rock burst from the glowing green core, the green fire rising up into the sky as rocks the size of houses floated and spun like hanging snowflakes. He saw one of the pieces turn to him, a hollow stone eye meeting his - the face of Andraste. Cullen clenched his jaw and looked down at his mark, it was blazing, reacting to the rift, but the pain was becoming familiar… like the throbbing of his head and the aching of his knees he never told anyone about. He sighed inwardly. He was getting too old for this madness.

He heard footsteps behind them and turned to see Leliana coming in with her archers. “You made it!” she exclaimed. “Thank the Maker.”

Knight-Captain Trevelyan also came jogging up with her massive sword across her back. Inquisition soldiers followed her. “We’re ready to move in, Seeker,” she reported with a salute.

“Leliana, Evelyn, have your men take up positions,” Cassandra pointed to the rift. “You’ll cover us in case anything happens.”

“Understood,” Evelyn nodded. She and Leliana made their way down to the rift with their men following them.

“So, do we have a plan?” Varric asked.

“Short from climbing up to the sky, I don’t see how we can close that hole,” Cullen said.

“No, the rift is the key. It was the first to open. Seal it, and we may seal the Breach,” Solas supplied.

Cassandra looked at Cullen. "Are you ready?" she asked. 

"I fail to see how that matters," Cullen replied. "If I die, a lot of problems will be settled. If I don't, Roderick will endeavour to see that I become a scapegoat. Someone has to pay why not me?"

"Politics," Varric shook his head. 

"Let's just get this done," Cullen sighed. 

“Then let’s find our way down,” Cassandra said. They turned to follow the path down. The area was dotted with pillars of black fade rock, glowing with veins of green fire. There was none of the winter chill seeping in through his armour. Instead, it was pleasantly warm. He turned a corner and stopped. “Oh Maker,” he groaned, a red glow illuminating his face. Strewn about the ground was pieces of glowing red lyrium, their inner glows gently ebbing like a heartbeat.

“Well, shit,” Varric growled behind him. “You know this is Red Lyrium, right?” There was a hint of panic in his voice.

“We see it, Varric,” said Cassandra tersely.

“But what’s it doing here?” Varric nearly whined in worry.

“Magic could have drawn upon lyrium from the ground and corrupted it,” Solas volunteered.

“Just stay away from it,” Cullen said.

“You up for more red lyrium containment efforts, Curly?” Varric asked as they gave the lyrium a wide berth.

Cullen sighed. “If necessary,” he said wearily.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch it,” Varric added helpfully, seeming to recover from his initial shock. “It’s evil.”

“We weren’t planning on it-” Cullen began but froze when another voice echoed over them, low and deep and carrying the weight of ages, steeped in malice.

_Now is the hour of our victory…_

They looked up at the Breach. Cullen’s eyes narrowed and he strode on even as the others gaped at the sky. He was done with this ridiculousness.

_Keep the sacrifice still…_

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, catching up with Cullen.

“At a guess, the person who created the Breach,” Solas replied as they followed Cullen.

Cullen drew his sword and shield.If that person was down there, Cullen was going to pay them back for the mark ten-fold… They descended a flight of stairs away from the glow of red lyrium.

_Someone..._

This time, the voice was familiar, one that had given him comfort when he had made the choice to join the Inquisition and… change his life. 

  _...help me..._

“That was-” Cassandra gasped.

“Divine Justinia.” Cullen took the stairs two at a time. But when he came to the end of the stair, with its drop down to the foot of the massive statue of Andraste that had once stood over her sacred ashes, there was no one there but Evelyn and her soldiers, looking as perplexed as they were. Cullen felt the bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth. He would have loved to meet whoever caused the Breach, killed the Divine and put that accursed mark on his hand. He sheathed his sword and slipped his shield onto his back. He grit his teeth and dropped off the ledge at the end of the stairs. As he landed, he felt a jolt through his whole being and the Fade rift flickered spitefully before him as he shut his eyes and winced from the pain lancing through his mind.

_"Why are you doing this?” Justinia’s voice sounded out. The sound seemed to catch his ears, resounding down the vaulted hallway he walked down. He turned to see a door to his side, the voice coming from within. A voice and the familiar sounds of swirling magic._

_“Keep the sacrifice still,” he hard that malevolent voice drawl. He saw a hand - his hand - push the door open to see the massive statue beyond, the Divine held aloft in red magical binds as shadows stood around her. “What’s going on here?” Cullen heard his voice shout. A being loomed over him, eyes burning red, pointing at him with a long thin finger._

_“Run while you can! Warn them!” the vision of Justinia shouted, looking at Cullen._

_“We have an intruder,” the shadow growled. Those red eyes filled the universe, evil and ancient, reaching right into Cullen’s soul. “Kill him!”_

_And the world blazed like the heart of a star in his mind._

Cullen opened his eyes, blinking as the memory fell away from him, leaving only an empty feeling within him. “You were there!” Cassandra cried, striding up to him. She took his shoulders as he tried to shake the empty feeling from his head. “And the Divine, is she- What was this vision? Was it real? What. Are. We. Seeing?!”

“I don’t remember, Seeker!” Cullen growled, slapping her hands from his shoulders.

“Echos from a forgotten past,” said Solas, his feet silent as he approached them. “The Fade bleeds into this place.”

“Be helpful!” Cullen snapped, understanding nothing of what Solas said.

Solas sighed. “The rift is not sealed but it is closed, albeit temporarily,” he said, his voice stern as he held his staff next to him. “It is likely that we may be able to open it and re-seal it properly. However, doing so would likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons!” Cassandra shouted at the troops and archers. “Stand ready!”

Cullen wished he were the one making those commands rather than standing there stupidly with the mark. In the ridge above the crater's core, Leliana and her archers were taking up positions. Around them, Ser Evelyn barked orders at the soldiers to form a perimeter. Then, drawing her massive sword as she stood at the head of the line of soldiers. Cullen felt his mind on the edge of a strange possibility - that he were in the wrong… place. He remembered Irving talking about how time and the world was known to split, bifurcate, where two realities would exist to encompass any choice that could ever be made by man - such was the Maker’s desire to give mankind Free Will, Irving had said.

Cullen thought of it as the trousers of time. When he looked at Evelyn and then at the mark, he felt odd. Wrong.

“Cullen!” Cassandra shouted, pulling his mind from strange thoughts. “We’re ready.”

Cullen nodded. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, exactly. He held out his hand with the mark and felt his whole being pulled by the magic. He grabbed his wrist and braced his body, feeling his being set on fire with the mark, sapping him from within. Was this what mages felt? Maker forbid… that he were a mage now.

The rift burst and sputtered above him as his whole arm shook violently - then, the rift exploded. A flash of green ripped through the rift, throwing them down to the ground. Cullen tumbled, feeling the connection severed. He picked himself up and drew his sword, the pride demon flaring into being and roaring with the sheer joy of existing in their world. He heard Cassandra shouting and arrows rained from Leliana’s archers. The demon merely  brushed the arrows aside and roared its challenge.

Cullen charged, sword in his hand and shield at the ready. He ducked a blast of lightning and brought his sword into the knee of the demon. It barely penetrated its bony hide. The demon laughed and smashed a fist down on him. Cullen rolled out of the way. This was not unfamiliar to him - killing demons. His sword clanked on the demon’s leg, vibrating as if he struck steel. He could see the faint barrier over the scales, thrumming against his blade. Above and around him, crossbow bolts and spells fired, bouncing off the bony plates.

“We must strip its defenses!” Cassandra shouted. Cullen saw the tendril of green binding the demon to the rift. What was that?

He ran from the fray to the rift and raised the mark to it. It felt that same jolting connection, but this time was prepared, bracing against it. The rift flared with a strange growing growl and then burst. Cullen sank to his knees. The pride demon also cried out, sinking down in pain as its shield fell from its shoulders like a falling shroud, staring blearily ahead with its multiple tiny eyes. Cullen looked up too late to see the claw strike - it caught him across the breastplate. He blocked the second strike with his shield, pulling back from the two attacking shades. Then a massive blade split the demon in two. Evelyn grinned at him, her face tight with excitement as she kicked the demon off her sword and slashed at the other. The demon backed away from the blow and fled with the Knight Captain chasing after it. Cullen shook his head and turned back to the battle. Cullen saw the pride demon rise, flashing whips of lightning in its hands. He sidestepped the whips, feeling his arm tingle with electricity as it passed and scored the ground with burn marks.

Cassandra was at the beast’s legs, slicing at tendons and muscle, her blade finding crevices in the demon’s bony armour. Cullen took her lead and stabbed his sword in the heel tendon of the demon. His blade struck true, the demon sinking to one knee, bleeding profusely from its legs. It tried to swipe at Cullen but sank back weakly.

“Now! Seal the rift!” Cassandra yelled. Cullen was all for yelling, but with his splitting head, he wished Cassandra would just stop. He raised his hand to the rift, bracing, feeling it sap him even further as the world blurred in his eyes. He turned his eyes from the blinding green light that flared from the rift, his whole being feeling like it was consumed by the fire. He grit his teeth and swore as he felt his body being torn from within. “Andraste’s tits!”

And then the world went black. It was a foolish last thing to say before he died.

 

++++

 

Or perhaps he wasn’t dead. For the second time in… he didn’t know how long, he felt himself rousing from the darkness. He blinked, the light of the hearth bright in his eyes. He was laying on something soft. That was good. His head wasn’t splitting. That was also very good. He groaned and opened his eyes, looking around. He was in his quarters in Haven. His armour was on its stand, his sword and shield by the bed. He was under his blanket, feeling wonderfully warm. So it was only a dream.

He brought his left hand to his eyes to rub his temple, thinking of that strange dream and the glowing mark- Something flared green in his vision. Cullen gasped with shock and held his hand away from his face. His hand flared green with the mark, spiting fire and light. Cullen squeaked and kicked the blanket away, rearing up to the headboard, his tunic and breeches in disarray as he stared at his own hand like it was a wild animal.

“Maker’s breath, it was real!?” he screamed, swatting the fire out. The mark stilled sullenly. Cullen held his wrist as he stared at the still mark, his heartbeat winding down from a terrified crescendo to merely a dull drumming his ears. Cullen looked up then, a serving elf staring at him in shock, holding a box of supplies. Cullen blushed to the roots of his hair, realizing he’d acted very foolishly. “What’s going on?” he barked, angrier at himself than anything else.

The elf dropped her box and sank to her knees. “Oh, Herald, forgive me, I did not mean to wake you,” she elf fawned.

Cullen pulled himself together, the mark stilled but his hand stinging like blazes now that the mark had been activated. He clenched his fist and sat on his hand. “You, you didn’t.’

“You closed the rift, Ser Rutherford!” the elf continued, her eyes liquid and bright with admiration. Cullen stared back, disconcerted. The adulation of young women was not something he was used to. “It’s all anyone’s been talking about for the last three days!”

“It- I did?” Cullen blinked.

“If Ser would like…” The elf stood up blushing at him rosily. “If ser would like, I would like to… give you a token of gratitude.”

“You needn’t, I didn’t do anything much,” Cullen said, swinging his legs off the bed. That was true. He'd just waved his hand at the rift. And nearly died, though he was sure that wasn't part of the plan. The elf walked to him slowly.

“I - I think I should,” she blushed, biting her lip, her hand gripping her skirt. "A small token, maybe?"

Cullen glanced at her hand holding her skirt, then up at her rosy cheeks, the penny finally dropping. He felt the heat of his blush from his chest to his cheeks. “Oh," he said in a hollow voice.

Her eyes lit up at his expression as Cullen found himself raising his hands almost in defense, the mark started flaring as if in response to his trepidation. 

“Meeris!” a voice from the door snapped the elf around. Meeris looked slightly sullen. Knight Captain Trevelyan stood at the door, her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised. Her dark hair was tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck, a loose lock framing her face. “Shouldn’t you be telling Seeker Cassandra that Ser Rutherford is awake? I believe that was her instruction.”

Meeris bowed. “Herald,” she said archly as she turned and left, her hips swaying. Cullen shook his head. “Herald? Maker’s breath,” he sighed. What a weird… pick up line?

“That was fascinating." Trevelyan smirked slightly, her eyes twinkling in amusement. "Should I have not sent her away? I could come back later, oh Herald.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I-I mean - that was not fascinating! It was entirely inappropriate!” Cullen stood up quickly, flushed with indignation, and the room began to spin.

Her hand caught his shoulder, steadying him. She was almost a head shorter than him, yet carried her massive sword and wore her plate easily. “Steady, Ser Rutherford. I wouldn’t want you to fry to a crisp in your own hearth after Adan spent days nursing you back to health.”

“What?” Cullen blinked, holding the mantle of the fireplace.

“It’s been three days since the Breach. You’ve been asleep a long time.” She stepped back and glanced at his armour. “You should get dressed. It is likely that Cassandra wants to speak with you.”

“Naturally,” he said, eyeing his plate. The thought of spending the twenty minutes battling straps did not appeal to him.

Ser Trevelyan seemed to sense his hesitation and went to pick up his leathers. “Come on, don’t be a baby,” she grinned at him. “We Templars are never without armour. Let’s start with this. It won’t feel so daunting once you get started.”

He smiled and took the leather trousers from her, pulling them on over his breeches. “I am not a Templar any longer,” he pointed out.

"You can take the man out of the Templars, but you can't take the Templar out of the man," she said, turning to pass him him his leather gambeson. "Or so they say. Who knows what still holds true?"

Cullen nodded slightly, lacing up the coat. He was hoping that wasn't true - there had to be a way to take the Templar out of the man. Silence fell between them as she unbuckled his breastplate from the armor rack. “Your boat was late?” he asked conversationally, looking for any way to fill the silence.

“Embarrassingly, yes,” Evelyn looked a bit embarrassed. “A storm caught us and we had to make port at Alamar. A blessing, I suppose. Had I been at the Conclave, I probably wouldn't be here handing you armor. You need a squire.”

“Can't spare the men,” he said, looking down at her standing there. “Er, you, you don’t really have to be here as I get dressed.”

“You sure?” she asked. “You’re still a little woozy. I could help with the straps.”

“Honestly, i-it’s fine, thank you,” he chuckled. “I’ll scream if I fall into the fire or something.”

Evelyn smiled at him brightly, making butterflies flutter in his stomach and sending tingles down his spine. “I’ll guard the door then, in case Meeris comes back,” she said, her smile illuminating her whole face. “Would you like something to eat?”

“I- uh-” Cullen cleared his throat. “No, it’s- it’s fine. I’ll just… get dressed.”

She nodded and turned to the door with a little wave of her gauntleted hand, shutting it behind her. Maker's breath, Evelyn Trevelyan was unexpected. He had heard of her in Kirkwall - she was learned in the histories and tactics, and trained in multiple weapons. The cream of the crop, not surprising when raised as a noble with access to the best trainers. She was also the youngest Knight Captain in the South of Thedas. That was a surprise. He was almost certain her parents did not buy her into the rank. Almost. They'd never met personally, but... he wondered what might have been if they had. The answer was obvious. He would have told her to assist him in his duties as he fought either blood mage or chaos in Kirkwall. It was a foolish contemplation. His hand was on fire and he was mooning over a pretty girl? He was no different than Meeris.

Cullen took a while to get into his uniform. His fingers fumbled and his hand was stinging. He smoothed down his hair with beeswax before he stepped out, because some things had to be done. True enough, when he opened his front door, Ser Trevelyan was standing there waiting. She looked up at his hair and chuckled in amusement.

"Something funny?" he asked.

"Not at all," she replied. "You look very handsome. Come, Ser Rutherford. We should get you to the Chantry.” But Cullen wasn’t listening to her, he was staring at the crowd that lined the street outside his house, a path kept open by Inquisition soldiers. They were murmuring, their hands clasped, watching him with adoring eyes. Some were reaching out to him, calling out to him, “Herald!”

“What,” He droned. 

“All will be explained,” Evelyn said, taking his elbow and nudging him to move. She led him down the path as the people called out to him again and again. “Herald… Herald… The Herald of Andraste…”

“It is rumoured that Andraste saved you from the Fade,” Evelyn explained as they climbed the stairs, heading to the Chantry.

“I don’t even know who that woman was,” Cullen grated. “I doubt it was Andraste. This is ridiculous!”

“Regardless, they believe you’re her Herald now.”

“I thought that was a pick up line Meeris just-” he began before he could stop himself.

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him evenly.

“I… J-just forget I said anything,” Cullen grated. Did he have to embarrass himself in front of everyone he just met?

They stopped at the Chantry door, clergy lining the walls, holding their hands in prayer as he passed. One tried to reach out to touch his furs. Evelyn caught the clergy’s wrist. “The Herald is needed, Sister,” she said, not unkindly. “It is best to give him room.”

The Sister looked disappointed, but withdrew her hand. Madness, Cullen thought. All of it - this was all madness.

Evelyn looked at him as they stopped in front of the Chantry doors. “You should head inside to the War Room,” she said. “My task was to escort you here without you getting mobbed by the Faithful.”

“Andraste preserve me,” he shook his head.

“From what I hear, she already did,” Evelyn grinned and held the door of the Chantry open for him.

He stepped inside and the door shut behind him, casting him into the candle-lit dimness beyond. The place felt foreign to him, which was stupid. He had been working here for two months before the Conclave. And yet… He refused to look at the damned mark and headed to the War Room. There were raised voices from within. “...That is not for you to decide, Seeker!” Cullen heard and groaned inwardly. Chancellor Roderick was in there, presumably with the Seeker.

“I do not believe that!” Cassandra retorted.

“Your duty is to serve the Chantry!”

“My duty is to serve the principles upon which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor - as is yours.”

“The Templar failed, Seeker! The Breach is still in the sky! For all you know, he intended it that way!”

“I do not believe that.”

Cullen pushed open the door and saw Roderick and Cassandra standing around the War Table. Leliana stood to the side, her arms crossed. “Chain him!” Roderick commanded two Templars by the door as he pointed at Cullen, who folded his arms and stared at the man with a thunderous look. “I want him prepared for travel to the Capital for trial.”

“Disregard that,” Cassandra said, straightening up from the table. “And leave us.”

Cullen heard two Templar guards salute and leave. He also heard their barely audible sigh of relief. He would not have gone quietly. 

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” said Roderick, eyeing Cassandra.

“The Breach is stable but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it,” Cassandra growled.

“Indeed. None of us here intend to. I did what I could,” Cullen said, shutting the door behind him. “And it nearly killed me.”

“And yet you live!” Roderick retorted. “A convenient result so far as you are concerned.”

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra purred. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave,” Leliana added coolly. “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others? Or perhaps they have allies who yet live.”

“You’re saying - _I_ am a suspect?” Roderick demanded.

“You, and many others,” Leliana replied.

“But not the Templar?!”

“I heard the voices in the Temple,” Cassandra stepped in. “The Divine called out to him for help.”

“So his survival , that thing on his hand - all a coincidence?”

“Providence,” Cassandra smiled slightly. “The Maker sent him to us in our hour of need.”

Cullen groaned inwardly and ran his hand over his face. If that were true - the Maker’s plan were truly ineffable. “I'm glad we agree on that, at least," Cullen said.

“I was wrong,” Cassandra said, a note of apology in her voice. “Perhaps I still am. I won’t pretend, however, that you were exactly what we needed when we needed it.” She turned to go to a sideboard at the back of the room.

“The Breach remains,” Leliana said. “And your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

“So it seems,” Cullen sighed.

“This is not for you to decide, Sister Nightingale,” Roderick snapped.

A book was slammed on the table, startling them all. “Do you know what this is, Chancellor?” Cassandra asked evenly, pointing at the massive tome with the eye of the seeker before a sunburst emblazoned on the cover. Cullen knew that book. She had showed it to him in Kirkwall, to convince him of the righteousness of the Inquisition’s task. He had read it and believed, that’s why he was here, leaving the Templars behind. The mark was not part of the bargain.

“This is a writ from the Divine - granting us the authority to act,” Cassandra said. “As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She walked up to Roderick. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible and we will restore order. With or without your approval.” Her finger jabbed into Roderick’s shoulder as she spoke. Cullen, in perhaps a childish sentiment, found Roderick’s paling face satisfying. Though, to be fair, anyone Cassandra stalked towards would react similarly. Roderick glowered at the three of them and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Cassandra waved her hand at the man in disgust. “We aren’t ready,” Leliana said, leaning over the book. “We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice,” Cassandra said quietly, folding her arms. She turned to Cullen. “We must act now, with you at our side.”

Cullen’s expression softened. “You still want me here?” Cullen asked. “Even after…”

“We sought you out in Kirkwall for a reason, Cullen,” she said. “That reason has not diminished because of the mark. Indeed, you are now called to serve in a greater role than we anticipated.” She held out her hand to him. “Help us fix this, before it’s too late.”

Cullen looked down at her hand. There was only one path ahead of him that he could see. He shook her hand, seeing her smile in satisfaction when he did so. It was nice to have someone believe in you. “What of the forces?” he asked.

“They will be led by Ser Trevelyan. Indeed, she has already been taking charge,” Leliana said.

“Though I worry about her age,” Cassandra replied.

"She has the best education money can buy, in addition to the Templar's curriculum," Leliana said. "And she is a noble, she can command some respect."

“That's not a terrible starting point to her first major command,” Cullen added. “We know of her in Kirkwall as well. She will do. And should she need guidance, I don't mind lending my humble assistance.”

“Tell her off, you mean?” Cassandra said.

"With tact."

"I'm sure you'll try to be," Cassandra smiled, and Cullen loftily ignored that comment to eye the map spread on the table before him. “Summon her, Leliana, and the Ambassador. We have an Inquisition to build.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting this fic to be so positively supported. Thanks everyone! Please keep reading and sharing your ideas with me on here or on Tumblr: http://commandersrest.tumblr.com/


	3. The Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen heads to the Hinterlands on his first mission as Herald - gather information from Mother Giselle and maybe kick some rogue templars in the head.

It had taken a week for everything to come together. Uniforms were finalized and distributed, training regiments were put in place. Since he was now effectively handing over his role, he spent quite some time with Trevelyan. Which… was not entirely bad, if he were to admit in his heart of hearts. When he wasn’t working, he was with Solas, who was usually insufferably vague to the point of Cullen’s eyes glazing over sometimes. The mark often flared unexpectedly, a reaction to the wavering Veil from the Breach, Solas said. Or at least that was about as much Cullen understood of Solas's obscure explanations. Cullen knew about blocking magic from others, not from himself. But he was learning to control the mark, to still his mind. 

They had also been introduced to Lady Josephine Montiliyet, an acquaintance of Leliana who would serve as the Ambassador. “Good,” Varric has said as they drank around his campfire. “The less you talk to nobles, the better, Curly.” Cullen couldn’t agree more. Nobles had always set his teeth on edge. 

Once the Inquisition pennant unfurled over the Chantry, their little band of frankly unsanctioned soldiers was now poised to save the world, hopefully. It was not an inconceivable task, it was just very, very difficult. Still, if he was given this mark, he would put it to use in whatever way the Maker wished.

It was almost evening when they convened in the War Room a week after Cullen had woken up. Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, Evelyn and Cullen stood around the War Table.

“How fare the Forces?" Cullen asked as they settled themselves around the table.

"They fare well under the new training regiment,” Evelyn said, resting her hand on her hip. "Now we just need to decide where we should point them." She had forgone her Templar armour in favour of another set of plate of light gold and cream, a rearing, long-maned horse on her breastplate. Over her shoulders was a pulled back hood lined with ram’s fur against the cold. She had taken to wrapping fur around her waist as well, often complaining about Fereldan weather.

“I doubt we could aim them at the Breach," Cullen muttered.

"We could," Evelyn smiled. "It wouldn't help, but we could."

“We could act upon Solas’ recommendations,” Cassandra said. “With enough power poured into the mark, we should be able to close the Breach if we try again.”

“Which means we must approach the Rebel Mages for help,” Leliana said. 

"I've heard Solas's recommendations," Cullen said, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword. “And I still disagree. Templars could serve just as well.”

“We need magic, Cullen,” Cassandra sighed, slightly exasperated at their old argument. “Enough power poured into that mark-”

“Might destroy us all,” Cullen cut her off. “Templars could weaken the Breach, suppress it to that-”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana flippantly interrupted.

“ _I_ was a Templar,” Cullen grated. “I know what they’re capable of.”

“Of course none of this matters right now,” Evelyn folded her arms. “We’re an upstart pariah organization of heretics - or that’s what the Chantry says, anyway.”

“While I wouldn’t have put it that way,” Josephine said. “Ser Trevelyan is correct. As of now, neither side will even speak with us. And the Chantry has officially censured us.”

“Of course,” Cullen sighed. “Has the letter of denouncement reached us already?”

“Sadly yes Both of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste. They refuse to accept an ex-Templar as the Herald of Andraste - going so far as to bring up your lack of title as well. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“I cry myself to sleep at night,” Cullen muttered, folding his arms. “Do we have Chancellor Roderick to thank for this?”

“I think they might have censured us no matter what," Evelyn said. "What amazes me is that they know Cullen is the only one who can close rifts and yet they waste time writing letters instead of restoring order. They should he helping us. Or at least funding us. Swords are expensive.”

“They believe that order needs to be restored,” Cassandra pointed out. “They just don’t believe we can do anything about it.”

“You’d think they’d be arguing about the next Divine,” Cullen added. "Not writing angry letters. At least we don't have to deal with them now."

"Unfortunately, that is not true either," Josephine pointed out. "The Chantry can impede us if they manage to sway the nobility against us."

Cullen sighed wearily. "It was too much to hope for."

“There is someone who can help,” said Leliana, a slight smile on her lips. “A Chantry mother by the name of Giselle has asked to meet with you, Cullen.”

“Why?”

“To talk, it appears. She knows those involved far better than I. Perhaps she does not agree with her Sisters. She has information she wishes to share with you, her assistance would be invaluable.”

“And how is talking to me supposed to stop the Chantry?”

Leliana looked at him with amusement in her eyes.

“Politics, I see,” Cullen rubbed his temple. “What are the chances of an ambush?”

“I doubt that is her intention,” Leliana said, holding her hands behind her back. “She is a reasonable sort, and kind. Not the sort to involve herself in violence. You can find her at the Crossroads in the Hinterlands near Red Cliff, tending the wounded.”

“Our forces are already there,” Evelyn added. “But the area is still a war zone. My troops report crazed apostates, rogue Templars and demons all along the West Road and throughout the Hinterlands. Frankly, it’s going to be hard to tell any of those bastards apart.”

"Naturally, it's in the middle of a war zone. It would be too much to hope for to meet somewhere easy."

"Shall we ask to meet in a quaint little cafe instead? Coffee, biscuits, pretty serving girls," Evelyn's lips curled into a smile.

"I meant somewhere not in a war zone," Cullen glared at her. "Make preparations for our departure then."

"If you don't mind my saying so, you should also think about making some friends, Cullen," Josephine said. 

"Are there any other critiques of my glowing personality anyone would like to make?"

“I meant as Agents," Josephine explained. "We’re in sore need of them to extend our reach, and you’re the best among all of us to recruit them, as Herald of Andraste."

Cullen groaned inwardly. Josephine was right. He was in a position to inspire a lot of loyalty, even if he didn't believe he were in any way the Herald of Andraste. “I’ll try.”

“Smile, Herald,” Evelyn flashed him that bright, alluring smile of hers. “You’ll make friends better if you smile.”

 

+++++

 

The Inquisition camp at the Hinterlands was a quiet cocoon of peace surrounded by fighting. Cullen, Cassandra, Solas and Varric made their way down from the forward camp, the sound of fighting rising all around them in the valley. Cullen gripped his hand, the mark quivering.

 

“Commander,” he heard as he dismounted at the camp. He saw the familiar face of Scout Harding and smiled at the dwarf. “Or do we call you Herald now?”

 

“I would prefer Cullen,” he said honestly. “But Herald it will have to be.”

 

“So, Ser Trevelyan is now Commander?”

 

“She is.”

 

“Ah well, welcome to the Hinterlands regardless, Herald. I’ve heard the stories - everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach. I guess we should also congratulate you on your, er, ‘promotion’?”

 

“Very funny, Harding,” Cullen sighed.

 

“Harding, huh?” Varric asked excitedly. “Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?”

 

“I can’t say that I have. Why?”

 

“You’ll be Harding in Hi- Nevermind.”

 

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

 

“What’s the situation here in the Hinterlands?” Cullena asked, walking towards a vantage point that overlooked the valley.

 

Harding followed him. “We came here to secure horses for the Inquisition - Master Dennet-”

 

“I know, I gave the order,” he said, stopping by the wooden railing to look out over the valley. He could see fires in the distance to the west and blasts of magic in the woods to the east.

 

“But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet - Maker only knows if he’s still alive. Mother Giselle is at the Crossroads tending to the wounded. Reports say that the war has already spread there too. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help the people but-”

 

“But you are outnumbered,” Cullen said knowingly, Commander first, Herald second. “I need a map with any known locations of the Templars and the Mages. We need to rout them if we’re going to restore some semblance of order.”

 

“By yourself?” Harding asked, reaching into her pouch to pull out a scroll tube.

 

“I have the others with me,” he said simply, already unrolling the scroll to look at the map. Cassandra joined him. “We’ll need to rout those stupid Templars and Apostates who are entrenched,” he told Cassandra.

 

“As expected,” she replied. “There is no other way to restore order if we let them be.”

 

“A few more camps established would also help,” Cullen said. "Any signs of rifts in the area, Harding?"

 

"Loads. All over the place."

 

"Maker's breath," Cullen sighed, rolling up the tube. Still, his plan of action was clear before his eyes. “We might as well get started. We need to find Mother Giselle first.”

 

They made their way down the hill, following the path towards the Crossroads. Cullen could see the results of the war around him - bodies of templars and mages frozen in combat, locked in ice, charred corpses lining the path. He drew his sword and readied his shield as they moved quicker down the path. He could hear Cassandra ready her weapons as well, Varric’s Bianca clicked as she unfurled. An arrow whizzed by his head. He saw the soldiers at the Crossroads battling Templars.

 

“Be ready!” Cassandra shouted as she ran ahead into the fray. It wasn’t the first time that Cullen was surprised by her fearlessness. He followed and smashed his shield into the templar charging up at them. Cullen’s shield bashed into the archer, throwing the archer off balance. A boot to the head knocked the man out. The archer wore Templar Insignia. Cullen felt a pang at killing him, and decided not to. He might prove useful.

 

He stepped over the templar archer as more Templars charged. “Fall back!” Cullen commanded. “We are not your enemy!” Perhaps responding to the note of command in his voice, the Templars slowed their steps. But when they caught sight of Solas, they charged the elf. Cullen saw one raise his sword, running for Solas. He blocked the largest templar’s charge, his shield crashing into the man’s armour. The templar toppled from the impact. Cullen parried a wild slash from the templar’s sword as the templar fell, roaring at him as if in a fit of madness. Cullen slammed the edge of his shield into the templar’s neck between the helmet and gorget. The templar sputtered blood and choked on the ground but Cullen was already moving on to the next. He saw a flash of green and felt a barrier rising around him.

 

With the ferocity of the attack, there was no choice. Cullen fought to kill. As the last of the Templars fell, they were flanked by a group of apostates coming down from the hills. These were no battle mages but still they fought with glyphs and ice spells. Foolish. While they fell easily to the sword, they dealt damage as well. Cullen nearly had his eyebrows burned off from a fireball hastily dodged as he charged at an apostate. His blade sank deep into the man’s torso, the fireball fading, the staff falling from the apostate’s hand. Cullen felt sick when he saw the mage’s face. It was just a boy - no older than fifteen. He grit his teeth and kicked the apostate off his sword. “Maker’s breath,” he said as he took in the surroundings. Stupid, stupid waste of life. “It looks like we’re in the clear.”

 

“Not a moment too soon, Curly,” Varric said, shouldering Bianca. “I thought you were going to have to think up a new hairstyle soon, with that last fireball.”

 

“Not today, at least,” Cullen said as he slashed his sword in the air, swiping the blood from the fuller before going in search of Corporal Vale. Cullen had to admit he felt a sense of pride when he saw the Inquisition’s pennant rise at the Crossroads. Under protection of the Inquisition, it read. It was a start.

 

“I believe the infirmary is beside that hut,” Solas said, idly holding his staff while around them, the injured and the dead were being tended to by the living. “It is likely you will find Mother Giselle tending the wounded there.”

 

“Thank you,” Cullen said.

 

“No, it is I who should thank you.”

 

“For?”

 

“For stopping those templars’ charge.”

 

Cullen smiled slightly . “Think nothing of it,” he said and went to seek out Mother Giselle as the others stayed behind.

 

He climbed the steps to the hut. There he saw a cleric kneeling by an injured soldier in a cot. She was still in her robes. How she got here through the fighting was nothing short of a miracle. “...turned to noble purpose,” she was saying, her voice lilting with an Orlesian accent. “Their magic is no more evil than your blade.”

 

“But-” she soldier croaked.

 

“Hush, dear boy, allow them to ease your suffering,” she smiled gently. Cullen came up beside her, his hands resting on the pommel of his sword.

 

“Mother Giselle,” he greeted.

 

“I am,” she turned to look at him. “And you must be the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste.”

 

“Not through any choice of mine,” Cullen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Mother Giselle chuckled softly. “We seldom have a choice in our fate, I’m sad to say,” she said warmly.

 

“So you agree with them?” he asked.

 

“I don’t presume to know the Maker’s intentions for any of us,” she smiled. “But I did not ask you to come simply to debate with me.”

 

“Then why am I here?”

 

She started walking, Cullen falling into step beside her. “I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I am familiar with those behind it,” she said. “I won’t lie to you, some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine, some are simply terrified.” She sighed. “So many good people, senselessly taken from us.”

 

“That’s an excuse?” Cullen asked a little harshly. “They’re making things worse.”

 

“They don’t know that.”

 

“Do you not stand with the Chantry?” Cullen asked.

 

“With no Divine, we are left to follow our own conscience, and mine tells me this,” she stopped to look at him. “Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics that you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only terrible things about you, give them something else to believe.”

 

“You want me to walk into Val Royeaux when the Chantry wants to execute me?”

 

“You are no longer alone. Indeed, you never truly were. I know you served as a Templar and now serve the Inquisition. They cannot imprison or attack you.”

 

Cullen’s honeyed eyes narrowed. “They could try.”

 

“Let me put it this way,” Mother Giselle said. “You needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to… doubt. Their power is their unified voice. Take that from them and you receive the time you need.”

 

“Were it that easy,” Cullen sighed.

 

“I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us… but I hope.” She smiled at him. “Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us, or destroy us.”

 

Cullen was silent, looking thoughtfully into the distance. Build the Inquisition? If only it were so easy, and yet he could see no way forward. Mother Giselle’s plan wasn’t without merit, and the Chantry had to be dealt with - damn politics.

 

“I will go to Haven,” Mother Giselle said then. “I will provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.”

 

Cullen shook his head slightly. “Thank you, Mother Giselle,” he said. “I will arrange for soldiers to escort you. You should not travel through this war zone alone.”

 

She chuckled. “I am shielded by the Maker’s hand,” she said.

 

“Yes, but let me put some soldiers in that hand with you,” Cullen insisted. “It would… comfort me.”

 

Mother Giselle gave him a… motherly smile. She had that aura about her that reminded him of his own mother when she was alive. “If you insist,” she conceded. “I will see you in Haven, Herald.”

 

“Do we have what we need?” Cassandra asked from the bottom of the steps as Mother Giselle walked off.

 

“We do,” Cullen said, descending to join them. “We will send word ahead to Leliana to arrange a gathering with some clerics in Val Royeaux. But before we can even go there, we must deal with the entrenched templars and apostates.”  

 

“Then we might as well get started,” Varric said. “Where’s that archer you kicked in the head? I hope you didn’t kill him.”

 

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” Cullen said, scratching his stubble. “Let’s find him, beat some intel out of him and go rout those templars.”

 

“Such savagery from our Herald,” Varric laughed. “I’m terrified.”

 

“Truly?”

 

“Terrified? Of you, Curly? Not in the least. I was just saying that to be nice.”

 

“Your consideration does you credit, dwarf,” Cullen glared at Varric as they went to find the unconscious archer.

 

++++

 

It had taken them three days to rout the templars and the apostates, and another three to clear out a wolf den for Master Dennet. Through it all, he closed rift after rift - there was no end to them and the demons that poured from them. The mark was behaving itself the more he used it, no longer sputtering and the burning fading to a dull throb. Cullen was exhausted, but it wasn’t over. There were still watchtowers to be built for the farmers' lands. For that, he had to return to Haven to give orders. Once the orders were given, he would make his way to Val Royeaux to deal with the Chantry, for whatever good it did. But befor that, a day of rest and recovery would be welcome. 

 

But rest was not waiting for him at Haven. As he approached the Chantry, he heard the clamor of a mob. He saw the crowd gathered in front of the Chantry. “Maker’s breath,” he growled, shouldering his way through the crowd.

 

“Your kind killed the most holy!” snarled a voice from the middle of the crowd - a templar facing down an aged mage.

 

“Lies!” the mage snarled. “Your kind let her die!”

 

“Shut your mouth, Mage!” the templar reached for his sword.

 

“Enough!” shouted a voice as the Chantry doors were thrown open. Evelyn Trevelyan strode forward. “Stand down - both of you! I will not have the Hinterlands played out in Haven!”

 

“Knight-Captain-”

 

“That is not my title!” Evelyn growled, pointing at the knight. “We are neither templar nor apostate - we are all part of the Inquisition!” Her gauntleted finger waved in both their faces, as if she were scolding school boys.

 

Cullen saw Roderick saunter into the middle of the show. Evelyn’s blue eyes glittered coldly as she eyed him with resignation. “And what does that mean, exactly?” he asked, well aware that he was being watched by the crowd.

 

“You again,” Evelyn crossed her arms. “Haven’t you done enough?”

 

“I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as promised,” Roderick said, waving his hand for the crowd.

 

Cullen finally made his way through to the front of the crowd and felt the eyes turn to him expectantly.

 

Evelyn snorted. “How nice of you, Chancellor,” she drawled. “But we are not here to put on a show.” She looked at the crowd. “Back to your duties, you lot! You have better things to do than watch fools scrapping in the streets, save that for the diamondback game.”

 

The crowd reluctantly dispersed, including the mage and the knight. Roderick, however, stayed with Evelyn. “So, the Herald is back, is he?” Roderick drawled, eyeing Cullen.

 

“Maker’s breath, Chancellor,” Evelyn said, her hand on her hip. “You truly are excellent with your timing. Mages and Templars already at war and blaming each other for the Divine’s death, and you want to grandstand?”

 

“We require a proper authority to guide them back to order,” Roderick said loftily.

 

“Indeed,” Evelyn smiled at him. “That’s why the Inquisition is here.”

 

“The rebel Inquisition and it’s so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’?” Roderick waved his hand at Cullen. “I think not!”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, we sound like any other bunch of siblings - yelling and scrapping in the street,” Cullen drawled.

 

“Mock if you will,” Roderick said. “Some of us seek justice!”

 

“Justice? I thought the word was scape-goat,” Evelyn retorted, crossing her arms.

 

“You think no one cares about the truth?” Roderick shouted. “Order cannot be restored as long as this rebellious Inquisition is allowed to fester.”

 

“Well,” Cullen growled. “Let’s hope we find solutions in Val Royeaux, and not  a cathedral full of Chancellors.” He turned to head into the Chantry.

 

“The stuff of nightmares,” Evelyn joined him, leaving Roderick standing outside the Chantry. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

 

“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” Cullen noted.

 

“Not as much as you, Cullen. I get to yell at the fools and throw them in the cells to cool off. But you… You’re not supposed to yell at Chantry Clerics in Val Royeaux, remember that.” She waggled her finger at him

 

Cullen chuckled. “I’ll won’t,” he said.

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she smirked. He chuckled slightly, catching those blue eyes. He cleared his throat. “Shall we call for the Council now or would you prefer to take a break first?”

 

“Let’s get this over with. I will also need to talk to you about watchtowers later.”

 

“Of course, Cullen.” She smiled archly at him “Anything for you.”

 

He was sure she didn’t mean it in that way, and then felt like a fool for even thinking it. After all, he had work to do, and this was… entirely inappropriate.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think of the chapters so far? Share your thoughts and feedback with me - stuff you liked, stuff you hated, it's all good! :)


	4. A Friend in Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen travels to Val Royeaux to address the Chantry, which goes just as well as he expected it to. It is there that he meets a new friend.

Val Royeaux glimmered like a dream in the sunlight. Her towering spires of lavish blue, the brightly coloured canvas that draped from those towers across the market, the glittering of her stained glass windows winking back at the sun was dazzling. Cullen had seen the city before, having been sent there for Templar training with the Chevaliers. Today, however, as he, Varric and Cassandra rode up to the city, it seemed as if Val Royeaux were going out of its way to welcome them. Bringing an apostate elf to a meeting with the Chantry might have been a little incendiary, so they had asked Solas to remain in Haven. Above the city rose the ring of bells, tolling mournfully.

 

“The city still mourns,” Cassandra sighed.

 

Which was stark juxtaposition to the people who looked at them as they rode past. The overly-ruffled Orlesians with their stupid masks gasped and backed away from them as they rode, donned in their armour. Cullen’s scowl darkened. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered.

 

“Just a guess, Seeker, but I think they may know who we are,” Varric noted as a noble scampered away from Cullen’s horse.

 

“Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, Varric,” Cassandra said drily.

 

“Maybe the red lion fur was a bad idea, Curly,” Varric said mildly. “Should have left it at Haven.”

 

“Never,” Cullen retorted.

 

“It looks like our arrival is not going to be a surprise to the general populace,” Cassandra noted drily.

 

“Be ready, everyone,” Cullen grated.

 

“For war or diplomacy?” Varric asked.

 

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

 

Varric laughed. “Andraste’s ass, Curly. I’d love to see you set loose among the Orlesian nobles.”

 

“Maker forbid,” Cullen sighed, already feeling a headache coming on. The sight of glittering Orlais suddenly wasn’t so pleasant with the light stinging his eyes. At the sight of his headache-induced scowl, more Orlesians scattered from their path.

 

An Inquisition soldier jogged up to them at the gates of the market as they reined in. “My Lord Herald!” she said and genuflected. Cullen would have to get used to that - he wasn’t used to everyone kneeling when they spoke to him and wished they’d just... stop.

 

“You’re one of Leliana’s,” Cassandra said.

 

“What have you got to report?” Cullen barked. “And Maker’s breath, please stand up, there’s no need for that.”

 

The agent stood hurriedly. “The Chantry Mothers await you in the market, but so have a great many templars.”

 

“What?” Cullen blinked.

 

“There are templars here?” Cassandra asked.

 

“The Chantry thinks they will be able to protect them from- from the Inquisiton. They are waiting on the other side of the market, I think that’s where the templars intend to meet you.”

 

“Maker’s breath… This increases the possibility of trouble threefold,” Cullen grumbled, handing the reins to the agent.

 

"Only three?" Varric asked. 

 

“They wish to protect the people - from us?” Cassandra sputtered in outrage.

 

“From the blasphemous Herald of Andraste more like,” Cullen growled, resting his hands on his pommel. 

 

“This is why we need to rethink that red lion fur,” Varric grinned at Cullen.

 

“Never in a million years, dwarf.”

 

Cassandra sighed, seeming to pull herself together. “We have our soldiers camped outside the main gates,” Cassandra said. “Be ready to send word to Haven in case we are dea- delayed.”

 

The agent nodded, holding the reins of their horses.

 

Cullen led the way into Val Royeaux. There market stalls were devoid of patrons, which was an oddity. All the people seemed to have gathered at the other side of the market, where a small stage was erected. A cleric stood on stage, a templar at her side along with two Chantry brothers.Cullen recognized the man. “Ser Barris?” he said as they shouldered their way to the front of the crowd. Barris saw him as well, surprise showing in his eyes.

 

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!” intoned the Mother on the stage.

 

Cullen sighed, seeing where this was going. “And it begins,” he muttered as they stood in front of the stage. This was literally grandstanding. This wasn’t what they came here for.

 

“Together, we mourn our Divine Justinia,” the Mother went on. “Her naive and beautiful heart… silenced by treachery.” Cullen crossed his arms, his head splitting, his face like thunder. “Well,” the mother gestured to him. “Wonder… no more…” The crowd gasped and turned to stare at him, Cassandra and Varric, their war-like attire making them stand out. “Behold the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! The maker would send no turn-coat Templar to us in our hour of need.”

 

Cullen bristled at that. After all the years he’d served… No, didn’t Evelyn say he was not allowed to yell at Clerics? “You say _I_ am the enemy?” Cullen demanded, his voice carrying over the crowd, bearing the weight of the authority of the Inquisition. “The Breach in the sky is the real enemy! If we do not unite to face it, all will be lost!”

 

“It’s true!” Cassandra added. “The Inquisition seeks to put a stop to this madness before it is too late!” Cullen turned at the sound of armour.

 

“It is already too late!” the Mother gloated. She pointed at the contingent of Templars marching up to the stage. “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this Inquisition and the people will be safe once more!”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed, he knew the faces on stage - Lord Seeker Lucius and templars, some of whom Cullen recognized as having trained himself in the Free Marches, marched on stage as if they owned it. Lucius eyed him, a sneer on his face as he stood on stage. Cullen tensed when a templar stepped up behind the Mother and punched her in the back of the head. The Mother fell to the gasps of the crowd. Cullen saw Barris move to aid her, but Lucius stopped the young knight. “Still yourself,” Lucius grinned. “She is beneath us.”

 

Cullen glared at Lucius. This entire spectacle was foolish! “Was that supposed to impress me?” he asked.

 

“As if I would do anything for your favour, Rutherford,” Lucius chuckled.

 

Cassandra fell into step with the Lord Seeker as he descended the stage. “Lord Seeker! It is imperative that we-” Cassandra began.

 

“You will not address me,” Lucius growled.

 

“Lord Seeker?” Cassandra blinked.

 

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet, you should be ashamed.” He glared at Cullen. “You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages!” He leveled a finger at Cullen and Cassandra. “You are the ones who have failed, you who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine!”

 

Cullen looked at Lucius incredulously. He didn’t have time for this nonsense. “Templars,” he said. “You know who I am. I was one of you. I trained some of you! And now, one of your own leads our forces. This is not the way to restore order, and you know this! Join us! Help us do the Maker’s work and bring some sanity back to Thedas!”

 

Lucius scoffed. “So staunch and loyal members of the Order. So loyal, you abandon us to become a false Herald and dragged another down with you. So loyal that you assisted an apostate in slaying your own Knight-Commander as she pursued her righteous task in purging the mages of Kirkwall. Has lyrium finally begun to take your mind, Cullen, that you truly think you are the Herald of Andraste?”

 

Cullen bit back the bile that rose at the accusations. His grip tightened on the pommel of his sword and he carefully took his hands off his weapon, his fists clenched by his side. “You know Meredith was mad,” he grated.

 

“I know perfectly well the sane from the mad,” smirked Lucius. “I would run my sword through you now as judgement for your crimes, were you worth effort of sullying my blade.”

 

“But Lord Seeker,” Barris said, coming up to Lucius, his eyes on Cullen. “What if he really was sent by the Maker? What if-” His voice was stilled by Lucius’s cold glare.

 

A templar stepped close to Barris. “You are called to higher purpose, do not question,” the templar warned.

 

“I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void. We deserve recognition! Independence!” Lucius turned to glare at Cullen. “You have shown me nothing. And the Inquisition - less than nothing! Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!”

 

With great strides, Lucius led the Templars away. Cullen caught Barris’s eyes, sharing a glance. Barris looked uncertainly at him and then turned to follow Lucius.

 

Cullen let out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his hair before waving off the templars in exasperation.

 

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric drawled.

 

“Has the Lord Seeker gone mad?” Cassandra blinked.

 

“Was he always like this?” Cullen asked. “What was the point of this whole fiasco?” Around them, seeing that the show was over, the crowd began to disperse.

 

“He was never one for grandstanding,” Cassandra shook her head. “This is truly bizarre!”

 

Cullen sighed. “I was hoping… I guess there’s no chance of that now,” he said.

 

“You don’t know why they’re leaving?” Varric asked.

 

“I know of their frustrations. The Order has been taken for granted by the Chantry, it’s true. But the aim of the Templars was always to serve and keep the peace, not to chase after vainglory. This is no different from the Circles rising.”

 

“Good thing Solas is not here to hear that,” Varric said.

 

“It’s not that I’m trying to be offensive,” Cullen said. “It’s just...” He sighed. “Nevermind. There was no point in stirring up resentment over contentious issues. He turned and walked over to the mother who had managed to sit up after the blow. Two brothers tended to her as she painfully held the back of her head where she was struck. “Mother,” he said, kneeling down next to her. “Are you alright?”

 

She glared at him and then at Cassandra. “This must please you both greatly,” she glared at Cassandra, holding the back of her head.

 

“We came here seeking only to speak with the Mothers,” Cassandra said, crossing her arms as she stood off stage. “This was not our doing, but yours.”

 

“And you had no part in forcing our hand?” snarled the Mother. “Now we are being shown up by our own Templars - in front of everyone! And my fellow clerics have scattered to the wind, along with their convictions” She turned her dark eyes to Cullen, her glare accusing. “Just tell me one thing. If you do not believe you are the Maker’s chosen, then what are you?”

 

Cullen blinked. What was he? Was he really specially chosen? Cullen found it hard to believe that the Maker would pick him of all people to do this task. He’d avoided the thought up until now. What did he feel in his heart of hearts… “I don’t know,” he replied quietly, honestly. “Just someone who can help close the Breach and end this madness. That’s all.”

 

Her eyes softened and a strange look of relief crossed her features. “That is… more comforting than you might imagine,” she murmured. “I suppose it is out of our hands now. We shall all see what the Maker plans in the days to come.”

 

“What did you want the Lord Seeker to do, Mother?” Cullen asked.

 

“Put aside his war against the mages, and find common purpose against something much more dire. Obviously, he has other plans.”

 

“And the Knight-Vigilant is dead at the Conclave as well,” Cullen sighed. “There’s nothing to be done now. The Lord Seeker has what’s left of the Templars.”

 

“Then perhaps there is something _we_ can do,” Cassandra said, and Cullen was grateful for her iron determination. Yes, there was something he could do. He just had to step up to do it.

 

“I’d like to believe that, Seeker. I truly would,” the Mother sighed. “I suppose we can expect renewed effort against the mages from him, and yet more chaos.”

 

“There’s got to be a way to calm everything down and… clean up this mess,” he shook his head.

 

“I hope against hope that may be the case, Templar,” she sighed.

 

Cullen stood up and looked to the brothers. “Perhaps it would be best to get the Mother back to her quarters, some ice would do for that blow.”

 

The Mother looked up at him, slight surprise in her eyes. “Maker watch over you, Templar.”

 

“And you, Mother,” he said as she was helped to her feet and led away from the stage by the Chantry brothers.

 

Cullen turned to Cassandra as he stepped off the stage. “Well that was-”

 

A whizzing sound made them jump as an arrow thunked into the grooves of the flagstones at their feet. “Maker’s tits!” Varric exclaimed. Cullen reached for his sword, but Varric caught his wrist.

 

“Don’t, if they were aiming for us, they’d have hit us,” Varric said. “The shooter got right in the grooves - he’s good.”

 

“An arrow with a message?” Cassandra bent to retrieve the message tied to the arrow.

 

Cullen pulled his hand away from his sword, but couldn’t help but find that turn of phrase curious. “Does the Maker have those?” he asked despite himself.

 

“How should I know? I was startled and it just came out,” Varric said.

 

“Read this,” Cassandra said, handing the message to Cullen.

 

Cullen took the note and muttered as he read. “There’s a baddie in Val Royeaux, he wants to hurt you… bring swords, look for the red things-” He frowned, perplexed. “This is such rot, am I supposed to understand this?”

 

Varric took the note. “The Friends of Red Jenny? Could be useful,” he said, reading the signatory and passing it back to Cullen.

 

“Who’s Red Jenny?” Cullen asked.

 

“An informal network of commoners who like to piss off nobles,” Varric said. “You should follow up on this.”

 

“Oh, very well,” Cullen said, pocketing the note. He resisted the urge to rub his temple; just bear the pain, it was of no matter. “It can’t hurt to have more allies, since we’re here anyway.”

 

They scoured the market place looking for clues which were red, an activity which Cullen found extremely… stupid. Was it so hard for them to just tell him what he needed to know? Why all the stupid games? Regardless, they managed to pinpoint the location that the ‘friend’ said the ‘baddie’ was. It wasn’t far from their route back to Haven. Might as well stop by.

 

They made their way to the gates, the Orlesians giving them a wide berth, which Cullen preferred, their cloying perfumes threatened to turn his stomach.  He just wanted to get back and… rest. He didn’t like Val Royeaux and all its frippery. “My Lord Herald,” he heard as he neared the gates. He was surprised to see someone shouldering their way through the marketplace crowd towards him. A mage by the look of the man, and by the feel of him as well, Cullen noted. Not all Templar training was so easily lost when the lyrium stopped. “I have a message from Madam De Fer.” A letter was put into Cullen’s hand and the messenger took off.

 

“Popular now, aren’t you?” Varric noted as Cullen read the letter.

 

“Not with the Chantry or the Templars, but apparently with all sorts of strange letter-writers,” Cullen noted drily. “An invitation to a salon in two weeks time. Maker’s breath… From the Enchanter to the Imperial Court, no less.”

 

“What does she want?” Cassandra muttered.

 

“I suppose we should find out,” Cullen frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose to stem the throbbing between his eyes.

 

“Why would the First Enchanter be inviting you to a party?” Varric asked.

 

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Cullen admitted. “Still, the Montsimard Circle did not side Grand Enchanter Fiona’s vote. They remain loyal to the Chantry. If the Templars won’t help, maybe Madam Vivienne might. And we need all the help we can get, especially after this afternoon’s display with the Templars.”

 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Varric added.

 

They continued to the gate, seeing the scout with their horses waiting for them still. A nice bath, Cullen thought to himself. Perhaps some food as well. Maybe then the headache would go away. “If I might have a moment of your time,” he heard.

 

“Maker’s brea-” Cullen turned, and froze, seeing the woman now speaking to him. “Grand Enchanter Fiona?” he said slowly. She stood there in full mage robes, her short dark hair making her look youthful, even as the lines at her eyes betrayed her true age. She smiled, perhaps pleased that he recognized her. “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

 

“I heard of this gathering and I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes,” she smiled at him.

 

“Well, you see him, such as he is,” Cullen sighed. Grand Enchanter Fiona was slight for an elf, but the way she carried herself, belied a quiet might. It was she who upheld the controversial vote for the mages to rebel. Cullen secretly wanted to shake her for being so… so predictable in crying oppression when the Templars had only sought to keep people safe. Though if he were truly honest, he actually wanted to direct his ire at Anders - and hit him repeatedly too. But that ship had sailed. He winced as the mark started to sting and slowly put his arm behind his back, willing the mark not to flare.

 

She chuckled. “I do see him indeed. If it is help with the Breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser option.”

 

“And what does your help cost, exactly?” Cullen asked bluntly.

 

“Oh, I have not promised you our help yet,” Fiona laughed. “Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Come, meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both, after all.” She looked at him speculatively. Cullen felt oddly naked in that gaze as the damn mark began to sting all the way to his elbow. First his head, now this… "We'll... see what we can do," he said vaguely. 

 

She chuckled. "Then I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my Lord Herald.”

 

Fiona turned to leave, the crowd almost unknowingly stepping out of her way to let her pass, though no one turned their gaze to her. When she was out of sight, Cullen gripped his wrist to stem the pain in his hand. He did not want the mark to flare in public. Glowing green light spitting out of his hand might be hard to explain away.

 

“More invitations?” Varric noted drily. “You alright, Curly?”

 

“I am,” Cullen grunted. “Just need to…” Need to what? He had no idea. Solas said he should calm his mind, remember that the mark obeyed him. At this point of time, with the headache, his mind was far from calm. He settled for gripping the pommel of his sword at his belt.

 

“Now you look like you’re about to kill someone,” Varric pointed out.

 

“Better that than the damn thing flaring.”

 

Cassandra sighed. “Come, let us return to haven and act on these matters. We have much to do. And the rest would do you good.”

 

“I’m fine,” Cullen sighed, shaking some life back into his hand as the pain stilled. “After all, we do have a ‘friend’ to meet.”

 

+++++

 

The red clues had led them to a manor in the richer outskirts of Val Royeaux. The manor was completely dark. Not even a candle burned in a window as they came upon it at night. It stood silent, illuminated . Cullen, Varric and Cassandra heading to the gate. Cullen lay his hand on it and frowned as the gate swung open at his slightest touch. “What in Maker’s name-” Cullen began and heard the shouts of alarm from within. Guards rushed them from across the courtyard, having caught sight of him. He drew his sword and shield even as Varric’s arrow pierced a guard in the head. Cullen kicked the gate into the face of a charging guard. Cullen blocked the strike of the third with his shield. Cassandra’s blade finished off the last..

 

Cullen stepped into the courtyard, the sole surviving guard writhing on the ground in pain, clutching his bleeding nose. “Whose house is this?” he demanded, of the prone guard.

 

The guard drew a dagger and spat at Cullen. “For the El-”

 

Varric’s bolt bristled from the guard’s eye. The raised dagger fell to the ground as the guard slumped dead.

 

Varric looked up at Cullen and shrugged, Bianca nestled in his arms.

 

Cullen sighed and walked into the courtyard. There were squared stones piled around the courtyard, building works clearly in progress but halted for the night. The came to another door, left slightly ajar. Cullen had his shield ready. He nudged the door open with his foot but a blast of fire shoved it open all the way, scoring the painted blue wood. Cullen deflected the second blast with his shield, the fireball leaving a rosette black charring on the flagstones.

 

“Herald of Andraste!”

 

Cullen saw an Orlesian noble beyond the door, donned in those frilly doublets with the puffed sleeves and a mask over his eyes and nose. Cullen saw the mouth under that mask smirk. “How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably.”

 

“I don’t even know who you are!” Cullen retorted, stepping into the courtyard beyond the door, his shield up and his sword ready by his side.

 

The noble put his hands on his hips, puffing himself up. “You don’t fool me! I’m too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere?”

 

“Where exactly?” Varric wondered out loud.

 

There was the sound of a knife into flesh. They turned to see a sneaking guard slump dead as a slight elf girl rose up behind the body, bow drawn and a grin on her face.

 

“Just say “What!”

 

The noble turned. “What is the-” And he fell dead with the whizzing of an arrow burying itself in his face with a sickening squelch of brains and blood. She elf made a disgusted face and stuck her tongue out as she lowered her bow.  “Eww!”

 

Cullen lowered his sword and shield. “What is the meaning of this?” he heard Cassandra exclaim behind him.

 

“Squishy one, but you heard me right?” the elf grinned, walking up to Cullen. “Just say “What?” Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. Blah, blah, blah,” She bent down to step on the noble’s chest, pulling the arrow from his face, “obey me! Arrow in my face!” She turned to Cullen then. “Glad to see you followed the notes well enough. And you’re... “ She looked disappointed. “You’re kind of plain really. All that talk and you’re just… a person.”

 

“Excuse me?” Cullen blinked, frowning.

 

“No, I mean, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is: you glow! You’re the Herald thingy?” The elf grinned at him with her wide green eyes under a crop of messily cut short blonde hair. Her tunic was modified for archers, but still shabby and stained with unknowable stains. Her plaidweave clashed horribly with her red tunic, Cullen realized.

 

Cullen shook his head. “Maker’s breath! I needed to question him,” he pointed out.

 

“Why? Does it matter? The point is: he’s dead!”

 

“Who was he?”

 

“No idea,” the elf shrugged. “I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

 

“People? You mean elves?”

 

The elf laughed. “No! Not elves. People, people! Name’s Sera. This is cover. Get round it. For the reinforcements.”

 

“What?” Cullen heard shouts of alarm from beyond the walls. He readied his weapons.

 

“Don’t worry!” Sera grinned at him. “Someone tipped me their equipment shed!” She snorted and drew her bow. “They got no breeches!”

 

The guards burst in from doors that led to the side, all bare from the waist down. The battle erupted around them. Cullen parrying strikes and cutting down guards, his shield both defence and blunt weapon in the short and dirty melee. “Why didn’t you steal their weapons?” Cullen demanded.

 

“Because! No breeches!” Sera snorted as her arrows fired off with Varric’s crossbow bolts, raining death down.

 

“This was unexpected,” Cassandra laughed, back to back wit Cullen as they fought together, swords and shields glinting in the moonlight.

 

“You’re laughing at this?” Cullen exclaimed. “You disappoint me, Seeker!”

 

Cassandra only grinned and stabbed a pantsless man in the gut, killing him. Cullen looked around when the fight was over. He was surrounded by dead bodies who were naked from the waist down. “Maker’s breath. This is surreal,” he muttered.

 

“Friends really came through on that one!” Sera said brightly, coming up to them. She laughed her snorting laugh. “No breeches! Haha!”

 

“It was hilarious,” Cullen said mildly, cleaning his sword on the tunic of one of the dead. “Now what’s this all about?”

 

She was looking at him thoughtfully. “So, Herald of Andraste, eh? You’re a strange one,” she said, not addressing his question. “I’d like to join?”

 

“You’d have to make sense, first,” he said, sheathing his sword and slipping his shield onto his back.

 

Sera sighed. “Look, it’s like this. I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That’s me!” She looked thoughtful, pouting her lips. “Well, I’m one. So’s a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven, brothers or something. It’s just a name, yeah? It lets little people, “friends”, be part of something bigger while they stick it to nobles they hate. So here, in your face, I’m Sera! The Friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there. I use them to help you - plus arrows.”

 

Cullen tilted his head. “You mean like spies?” he asked.

 

Sera groaned. “Look, you big people are all up here, right? Shovin’ your cods around - I’ll crush you, I’ll crush you - oooh, crush you!” She paused with her feet stomping to make what Cullen perceived as… kissing sounds of death, her hands clenched fervently at her chest. She looked like one of those thick-lipped fish Cullen had seen on sale at market. She caught him staring at her, looking slightly alarmed and very confused. She straightened up, her hands on her hips, pretending that didn’t happen. “Then you have the knives - like this guy - or was he one of the little knives all scary with his… little knife.”

 

“What?” Cullen droned.

 

“Look, point is, no, I’m not all nasty knifey shiv dark. But if you don’t pay attention to things down here, you lose your breeches.” She snorted with glee. “Like those guards? They lost their…”

 

She stopped, seeing his puzzled look. “Look, do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”

 

Cullen smiled slightly. She was crazy, but perhaps crazy was in fashion these days. “Alright Sera,” he said. “I could use you and your “Friends.”

 

She punched the air. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Get in good before you’re too big to like! That’ll keep your breeches where they should be!” She poked his breastplate. Then she paused. “Plus - extra breeches! Because I have all these…” She turned to look at a sack by the wall. “You got merchants who buy that pish, yeah? Got to be worth something. Anyway,” she turned to him and punched him on the shoulder. “Haven! See you there, Herald!”

 

Cullen watched her turn and run out the gate, light on her feet. He blinked and she was gone.

 

“What just happened?” Cassandra asked, puzzlement in her voice.

 

“I’ve been wondering that since I woke up in jail,” Cullen sighed.

 

Varric joined them as he shouldered Bianca. “So… are we bringing the breeches, Curly?”

 

“No.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feedback from everyone has been amazing and constructive so far! I hope to continue this story as far as I can! Please let me know what you think in the comments below, even things you don't like will help me improve in my writing.


	5. The Mantle of the Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those curious about Ser Evelyn Trevelyan's armour, here is a quick [sketch](http://commandersrest.tumblr.com/post/133660479098/i-needed-to-get-this-out-of-my-head-evelyn-as).

They returned to Haven two days later. Cullen and Cassandra headed straight to the Chantry to brief the advisers on what had transpired. It turns out, they didn’t have to. Josephine, Leliana and Evelyn were waiting for them in the Chantry. Leliana and Evelyn were talking tersely, their heads close. Evelyn shook her head, her expression one of disbelief and frustration. Then they saw Cullen and Cassandra walk in and Leliana and Evelyn parted, looking for all the world as if they were merely pleasantly conversing. “Good,” Josephine said. “You’re back. We heard about your encounter.”

“You heard?” Cassandra asked.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course,” Leliana smiled.

“It’s a shame the templars have gone mad,” Evelyn sighed. “Was there no way for you convince them not to abandon the city?”

“I think if there were, he would have done it,” Leliana said mildly.

Evelyn sighed. “That is true,” she shook her head.

“At least the Chantry is dealt with,” Cullen said seriously as they stood in the middle of the empty Chantry talking.

 

“And we have the opening we need to approach the templars and the mages,” Josephine said.

“Do we?” Cassandra asked. “The Lord Seeker is not the man I remember.”

“True,” Leliana added. “He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been… very odd.”

“We must look into it,” Cullen said, his voice sounding weary from the road. “I’m certain not everyone in the order will support the Lord Seeker.”

“Or you could just approach the mages in Redcliffe, instead,” Josephine said to him.

“You think the mage rebellion is more united?” he asked incredulously. “It could be ten times worse! We should investigate the Templars.”

“I agree,” Cassandra frowned, her hand on her hip. “What could the Lord Seeker be up to?”

“We shouldn’t discount the mages, they might be worth the risk,” Josephine pressed.

“They are powerful, Ambassador, but more desperate than you realize.”

“But after the Divine’s death,” Evelyn stepped in. “They could be scrambling for allies. Why not us?”

“And if some among the rebel mages were involved in the explosion at the Conclave... “ Cassandra warned.

“But the same could be said about the Templars,” Evelyn said.

“True enough,” Cullen frowned, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “But right now, I’m not sure we have enough influence to approach anyone safely.”

“Then we need more agents,” Cassandra looked at him. “That is where you can help.”

“Of course,” he said, keeping the resignation from his voice. Perhaps there is something we can do, Cassandra had said. There was. Now he just had to do it.

“In the meantime, we should consider other options,” Josephine said. “We will pick up this discussion again when we have the influence we need.”

Cassandra nodded. Together with Josephine, the two of them walked off. Evelyn looked at Cullen. “If you have the time, speak with me later, Herald, so that I may debrief you on the Hinterlands situation.”

“Alright,” he replied and she turned to leave, her eyes lingering on him perhaps a little longer than was necessary, or was that just his imagination. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his head throbbing slightly.

Leliana walked over to him, her steps as silent as dewfall, her expression serious. “There is one other matter,” she said quietly.

“Just a one?” Cullen asked, sounding a little surly.

“Or perhaps two,” she smiled.

“I really shouldn’t ask such questions.”

She looked at him in amusement, then her serious expression returned. “A few months ago, the Gray Wardens in Ferelden vanished,” she began. “I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared.”

“Just disappeared?” Cullen asked. “Could they have gone to Weisshaupt?”

“Not all of them, they would not abandon their watch in the south,” she frowned. “The only Wardens of any note left in the south are King Alistair and the Queen, if she is even in Ferelden right now. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t even consider the idea that Wardens might be involved in all this but… the timing is curious.”

“It could just be coincidence.”

She sighed. “The other have disregarded my suspicions, but I cannot ignore it. Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands came across a Gray Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.”

“And if he can’t?”

“Then there may be more going on than we thought.”

It was now Cullen’s turn to sigh. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. Work never ended, he mused as he left the Chantry. The only difference between being Commander and being Herald was that he had less paperwork as Herald. Though he actually sort of missed the paperwork. He was running around a lot more as Herald too. Though he detested to admit it, he would need to rethink the fur - at least sometimes. He hadn’t even put down his pack yet.

Cullen took the moment to return to his quarters and get cleaned up. He bathed, changed his tunic and leathers and fixed his hair, of course. Then, feeling much more presentable and smelling much better, he buckled on his armour and headed out. The snow was falling again in Haven, the late afternoon sky a dirty gray, illuminated only by the green Breach that loomed over them all. A clear a present danger, yet everyone sat on their hands worrying about stupid things like a new Divine. When the boat was sinking, it was no time to argue over who was supposed to be steering.

He headed out the gates to the barracks. Training was going on as always, with soldiers going through their sword drills beside the barracks. He missed the training as well. Frankly, he missed everything about being Commander. He was the most ill-suited person to be a figurehead of the Inquisition. But there was another Commander now, and she was training with the recruits, her plate armour off and donned only in her padded white tunic and furs. She faced a recruit now, a buckler and sword in her hands. “Arm in!” she snapped. “This isn’t a knitting needle. Hit me!” The recruit took a clumsy swing at her. She deflected it with the buckler, her counterstrike with her sword stopping just shy of the recruit’s neck. “You locked your elbow again, Maker’s breath!” She drew back. “Again!”

Cullen stood to the side, watching her put the recruit through his paces, her hair bun a mess now, loose locks of her hair clinging to her lips. He saw Rylen watching him. With everything that was going on, he hadn’t even had the time to speak to his old friend. He sauntered over to the man. “How’s the new boss?” he asked Rylen conversationally.

“She’s more hands on,” Rylen replied, his lilting Starkhaven accent as strong as ever. “Maybe because she’s not worried about getting her hair messy, unlike my old boss.”

“It’s times like these I wonder why I talk to you,” Cullen said with a straight face.

“Because who else would tell you the truth, Cullen? Or should I call you Herald now?” Rylen chuckled.

“Cullen will do, unless there’s someone around we need to impress. Then we’ll break out the ‘Herald’s.”

“As you wish. But seriously, she’s fine. A little cocky.”

“She’s young, I suppose,” Cullen replied. “Give her time to settle.”

“We are,” Rylen said, watching Evelyn pick the recruit up from the snow and tap his elbow with her blunt sword, reminding him to tuck it in as he readied for the next strike. “She hates paperwork but slogs away at it anyway. Knows a lot of book things.”

“We’ve all been under the sort before.”

“Noble book captains?” Rylen smiled. “Yes. But she knows her way around the sword, I’ll give her that. And the hammer. Did you know she uses hammers?”

“Maker…”

“Don’t annoy her, if you’re interested.”

“Excuse me?” Cullen glared at him. “What do you mean?”

Rylen gave him a long, steady, knowing look.

“That- That is nonsense. And entirely inappropriate!” Cullen sputtered, his cheeks feeling hot.

“Why not? She’s pretty, you’re pretty, you can both share fur tips and hair cream,” Rylen shrugged. “I think she could be convinced to maybe put up with your conversation.”

“Still inappropriate, Rylen!”

“Commander!” Rylen called. “The Herald is here looking for you.” Cullen nearly choked. Evelyn turned to see him, her blue eyes lighting up. “Herald!” she exclaimed when she spotted him. The recruit, perhaps foolishly, tried to land a strike when she was distracted. She sidestepped the strike. The recruit yelped as he fell unbalanced and tumbled into the snow.

She laughed easily. “Not today, friend,” she said, bending down to pick him up. The recruit smiled sheepishly at her as she grinned and dusted snow off the recruit’s shoulders. “Not a bad attempt, but try that on me again and I’ll gut yer.”

“Yes, Commander!” the recruit saluted, not sure whether to be scared or amused. She handed him the buckler and the sword.

“Captain Rylen, take over,” she said, walking over to where Cullen and Rylen stood. Rylen saluted and cast Cullen a meaningful look before stepping forward to take over the drills.

She was breathing hard, tilting her head as she looked at Cullen. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Am I- I mean, yes, I am.”

“You’re all red in the face.”

Cullen thought quickly. “I just had a hot bath,” he managed.

“Oh, that explains the hair,” she smiled. “I can never keep mine that neat.”

“Really?” Cullen said slowly. Sharing hair tips, indeed. Damn it, Rylen… “How fare the forces?” he asked, changing the subject.

“We’ve received a number of recruits,” she said turning to look at the soldiers practicing. “Locals from Haven, some pilgrims… All wanting to follow the Herald of Andraste.”

“Well, at least being Herald is good for that,” Cullen chuckled.

“They would have still come if you were Commander,” she pointed out as she crossed her arms. “How did you come to be in the Inquisition?”

“I was recruited in Kirkwall,” he replied. “I was there during the Mage Uprising. I saw first hand the devastation it caused. Cassandra sought a solution. When offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause.”

“That took courage,” she said. “You left it all behind?”

“The Templars? Yes,” he sighed. “It was… no easy task. But now it seems we now face something far worse.”

“You must have that mark for a reason,” Evelyn looked down at his hand. “It will work.”

“Provided we can secure aid, but I’m confident we can. The Chantry lost control of both the Templars and the mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act where the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can-” He stopped himself, realising he was rambling, even as his heartbeat quickened in his chest as he spoke impassionately. He shook his head. “Forgive me, I doubt you called me here for a lecture.”

“I do have a lot to learn from you, Herald,” she smiled archly at him. “So if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.”

“Another time, perhaps…” he chuckled and awkwardly cleared his throat.

“You truly believe in the Inquisition, don’t you?” she asked him seriously.

“I… do. Do you not?”

She sighed. “I believe we are the best positioned to make a difference, yes,” she admitted. “But we lack a great many resources. As it is, we’ve only just gotten sappers in to build trebuchets.” She looked up at him. “Not to mention the fact that we have no Inquisitor, no Chantry support, no support from any crown - we’re a band of soldiers and little else now.” She paused. “But I believe you could change all that. Just like you took the Inquisition’s forces and sowed the seeds for a capable and well-trained army. I hope I do your work justice as Commander.”

“Carry on with the attitude to learn and you’ll do fine,” he said.

“Yes, Knight-Captain, ser!” she saluted playfully.

“Maker’s breath…” he sighed, feeling old. He couldn’t help but notice that her salute was textbook, however.

She chuckled. “You’d be best for Commander, you know. You have that ‘serious’ face and you seemed to really enjoy paperwork. Paperwork drives me mad.”

“There’s a certain comfort to it,” Cullen smiled.

“Oh, I have no doubt you feel that way,” she laughed. “However, you were right. I didn’t call you here for a lecture as much as I would love to hear you give it. This way, Herald,” she said, jerking her head to her tent. “I have something for you.”

Cullen didn’t move, looking at her in puzzlement as if he’d heard her wrong. “Pardon?”

“This way, Herald,” she waved him over, pulling back the tent flap.

He wouldn’t have felt so conscious of following her into her tent has Rylen kept his mouth shut. Why he talked to that man Cullen would never know. He hesitated outside her tent and caught Rylen looking at him. With a serious face, Rylen gave him a discreet thumbs up. Cullen shot him a dark look and shook his head. Maker’s breath.

“Herald!” she called from within.

He sighed inwardly. Rylen was going to not let him live this down. “Yes,” he said and pushed the tent flap aside, heading into the tent. Evelyn’s tent was typical of what a soldier would have. A plain and rickety field desk was against the back flap, papers scattered across it with a map of Ferelden pinned to the tent cloth. Her cot was neatly made with a chest at the foot of her bed. Except for the table, everything else in the tent was neat, including her washing line of small clothes. He quickly looked away, determined not to even look at them. Truly, apparently the only thing she hated was paperwork. She was bent rummaging in her open chest.

“We were going to talk about the Hinterlands?” Cullen prompted, averting his eyes as she bent over, digging through her chest.

“Yes, the watchtowers are built,” she said. “And the area is having relative peace right now. The soldiers are helping to keep the area stable, though we do have some stubborn bandits in the foothills.” She straightened up, holding something large and rather flat, wrapped in linen.

“What’s that?” he asked, eyeing the thing in her hands.

She suddenly looked uncertain. “It’s.. for you,” she held it out to him, her arms suddenly as stiff as the recruit’s.

Interesting… Cullen gave her a half-smile, a look of amusement on his face. He took the thing, which weighed heavily in his grip. He knew what it was from the feel of it in his hands. He pulled the linen cloth back to reveal the crest of the Inquisition, embossed on a new breastplate with a triangular chestpiece that stretched up into a gorget protected his neck.

“I thought you should wear something different,” she said, playing with her fingers. “Because you’re Herald. Not that the mix-and-match look isn’t good, it’s- rather nice,” she went on quickly, “I just thought a new breastplate with the crest would be more appropriate since you represent us, and everything.”

“Where did you get this?” he asked curiously as he ran his fingers over the crest.

“I… had it commissioned from Master Harrit,” she said. “It should fit. He knows your size. It has places to attach the shawls you wear too.”

Cullen’s eyes met hers. He smiled at her despite the heat in his cheeks. “It’s… very nice,” he said sincerely.

She looked at him a little uncertainly, her heart in her eyes. Cullen felt his heart quicken again, but with a different sort of passion than it did before. Almost as if catching herself, she folded her arms and looked away. “It’s not meant to look nice,” she said sternly, though she couldn’t command her own blush to go away. “It’s meant to protect your neck. You leave it wide open with that gorget you’re wearing now. I just don’t want anything to happen to you, Cu- Herald.”

He chuckled.”Of course,” he smiled. “Thank you, Commander. I’ll wear it.”

“Good,” she said, her eyes meeting his again, looking pleased. She cast him a sheepish little smile. Cullen couldn’t help but wonder...  He cleared his throat, as if chasing the thought away. Awkardness bloomed between them.

She shook her head and tucked the loose lock of her hair behind her ear. “Now I should- I have a lot to do. Do you need anything else of me, Herald?”

“Er, no,” he said. “I should-”

There was a scratching at her tent flap. “Commander?” someone called from outside.

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

Cullen and Evelyn stared at each other. “Forgive me, force of habit,” he said and wrapped the linen around the breastplate once more. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

“We’ll speak again soon,” she smiled warmly at him as she walked him out of the tent. “Are these the reports?” she asked, once more all business as she took the clipboard offered to her. Cullen walked off, avoiding Rylen’s eyes as he held the breastplate under his arm.

He paused when he saw Cassandra at the training stocks, on her own as usual, slashing at the dummies with a ferocity that was slightly terrifying. He strolled over. The rest of the day was his to spend, after all. Her sword glinted in the dull light as snow fell around her. With another feriocious stab, the dummy finally fell to the snow, nearly cut in half. She made a disgusted noise and moved on to the next dummy. Cullen chuckled. “I think you need stronger dummies,” he said. “Maybe made of iron?”

“That would be nice,” Cassandra sighed. She continued to strike at the dummy. “Did I do the right thing?” she asked him, her words coming out through her heavy breaths. “What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life.” She paused, her eyes turning to him. “One day, they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right,” she went on quietly.

“What does your faith tell you?” Cullen asked her seriously.

“I believe you are innocent,” she said, flexing her shoulders. “I believe more is going on here than we can see. And I believe that no one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot.” She sighed, leveling her sword at the dummy once more. “But is this the Maker’s will? I can only guess.”

Cullen sighed. “You know you didn’t have any choice,” he said.

“Didn’t I?” Cassandra asked slowly. She stabbed the dummy fiercely and a slash rent its arm from the torso. She dropped the sword in the snow and turned to him. “My trainers always said, “Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.” I see what must be done and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail.”

“You’ll get no arguement from me there,” Cullen smiled.

She smiled slightly then. “But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to so careless again.”

“Can’t say I’m not grateful to hear that,” Cullen said drily, with some relief.

Cassandra chuckled despite herself. “I can be harsh, I know,” she said. She sighed. “Surely the Maker put us both on this path for a reason. Not it remains to see where it leads us.”

Cullen looked down at his hand. “That we will,” he murmured. “If I have this mark, we might as well use it. We are the only ones who can close the Breach.”

“All that remains to be seen is whether the Templars or the mages will side with us.”

“I am honestly more inclined to speak with the Templars,” Cullen admitted, the snow dusting his hair, his breath fogging the air.

“As am I,” Cassandra said, eyeing the linen-wrapped bundle he held curiously. “The Lord Seeker’s actions are a mystery that needs solving. We should try to speak with him soon.”

“With respect, we do not necessarily need the Lord Seeker. We need only the Templars.”

“That is true, we shall have to see if we can even gain an audience to speak with either of them.” She took the bundle suddenly and pulled the linen aside.

“Cassandra!” Cullen chided, trying to grab it back.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, holding the breastplate away from him. “Did you comission this?”

“No,” he grated, taking it back from her and wrapping it up. “Commander Trevelyan did.”

Cassandra laughed.

“Explain the laughter.”

“I wonder if she has opinions about our Herald’s taste in armour.”

“Maybe. She says it’s to better guard the neck.”

“True, it is a weak spot as you are now.”

Cullen sighed. Was everyone going to have opinions about his armour? “This gorget is meant to be worn with the lion helm. I don’t think she knows about the helm.”

“Which you have not worn,” Cassandra pointed out directly.

“True.”

“Because it is too heavy.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “... True.”

“As I have pointed out on several occasions-”

“Leave my helm alone, Cassandra,” he said loftily. “I will never not like that helm. Not everyone had the Seeker's budget to buy armour, Seeker.”

“Well,” she grinned at him. “The new breastplate is appropriate then. Will you wear it?”

“Since I don’t wear the helm as much as I should, I suppose I will.”

She smiled warmly then, crossing her arms as she looked at him with amusement.

“Don’t you even start,” Cullen glared at her. “Rylen’s been on my back about this already.”

“Are you going to get her something in return?” she asked.

Cullen groaned. “Maker’s breath, Cassandra, we have work to do.”

Cassandra chuckled. “We do. We will discuss this after the Breach has been closed.”

“Come the morning, we will convene the War Council to discuss how we could possibly get an audience with the Templars or even the merits of speaking to the mages,” he said. “And then, hopefully we can close the Breach and the chaos will stop.”

Cassandra smirked at him, her hand on her hip. “Finally,” she said then, a note of pride in her voice. “You are sounding like the true Herald that we need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Cullen slowly but surely begins to shoulder the burden of being Herald. I tried to feature more on the relationships here. He can't be ALL business, though he pretends to be. Thoughts? Advice? Feedback? Let me know!


	6. Meeting the Magister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen meets with Magister Gereon Alexius. It does not go well.  
> 

They convened the War Council first thing the next day. Cullen, Cassandra, Evelyn, Leliana and Josephine stood around the war table, poring over reports of the Templars. “What in the Maker’s name are they doing in Therinfal Redoubt?” Cullen sighed, leaning over the reports. He had indeed swapped out his breastplate for the one Evelyn had comissioned. She had cast him a pleased smile and that was all.

“If Lord Seeker Lucius was leading them, it would make sense that they use the old Seeker Fortress,” Cassandra said. “Perhaps the Seekers are there with them.”

“If you want to leave and fight all the mages, why would you then hole up leagues away in a fortress? Do they think the mages will attack?” Cullen asked, frustration in his voice.

“Are you truly set on talking to the Templars?” Evelyn asked, her plate mail glinting in the torch lights of the room.

“I am, they seem the safer option than the mages,” Cullen replied.   
  


“And I still disagree,” Leliana sighed. “They are not even willing to open their doors to us. Why force the matter when the mages themselves have invited us to parley?”

“I am wary of inviting rebel mages to assist the Inquisition,” Cullen admitted. “We do not know how loyal they can be. Not to mention the fact that many have been without Templar supervision for so long, who knows how many abominations-”

“It is unworthy of you to suspect the mages so.”

“I’m not trying to be offensive,” Cullen sighed, straightening up and resting his hands on the pommel of his sword. “I am merely being realistic. We cannot presume the mages will be safe allies.”

“The Templars could be just as dangerous with their erratic behaviour,” Leliana pointed out. “We need to power up the mark, don’t we? You don’t know that the Templars can help with the Breach.”

“Theoretically, they could,” Evelyn said. “I can second Cullen and confirm that we do have techniques to suppress the magical vibrations of the Breach. It should work. It is no bigger a gamble than if we powered up the mark with magic. We don’t even know if that would actually work, after all. We only have Solas’s word for it.”

“Perhaps we can approach both,” Cullen said. “I have no desire to let the mages sit in Redcliffe like a loose end. We might as well, since we’ve been invited, as you say, Leliana. However, the Templars are still an issue. Is there no way we can speak to them, force their hand?”

“Templars have always been subject to the whims of the Game,” Josephine said quietly. “Perhaps we can appeal to other powers to lend us their voice.”

“What powers?” Cassandra asked.

“Nobility,” she said. “Chantry aside, the nobles of Orlais are just as eager to see the Breach closed. If we could approach some of the houses to ask them to put pressure on the Templars, we might be able to gain an audience.”

“Do you think that would work?” Cullen asked.

“It would certainly help legitimize the Inquisition to some degree,” Evelyn pointed out. “The Templars are still the primary force protecting against rogue magic, and until recently, they were endorsed by the Chantry. With them taken into the fold, the Inquisition would be seen as a force that allies with the most legitimate Orders. We’d be a stable choice. Allying with the mages might not paint us in a good light in some quarters.”

“And people wonder why we don’t trust mages,” Leliana sighed. “Don’t you think that allying with them would allow the Inquisition to legitimize them? To make them into a legitimate Order?”

“This is not the time to discuss mage rights,” Cassandra stepped in. “We do not even know what is out there.”

“Agreed,” Cullen said. He frowned as he looked down at the War Table. “It will take some time to contact these nobles, will it not?”

“It will,” Josephine said.

“Then do that. In the meantime, we will head to Redcliffe to speak with the mages while we wrangle the nobles to help us pressure the Templars.”

“Wrangle?” Evelyn asked, amusement in her voice.

“Figure of speech.”

“That seems like a good path forward,” Cassandra said. “Josephine, do what you can. The Herald and I will go speak with the mages. Perhaps Grand Enchanter Fiona will be amenable to joining us as well.”

“Maybe we can have both Templars and mages,” Evelyn mused.

“That would truly be a miracle,” Cullen replied.

++++

True to Evelyn’s report, the Hinterlands were far calmer than before. The watch towers for the farm lands were built and Master Dennet was on his way to Haven as they spoke. Dealing with logistics on the ground like this reminded Cullen of being Knight Captain in Kirkwall. At least he needn’t worry about putting on too much weight from being inactive. He rode with Solas, Varric and Cassandra. As always, Varric talked incessantly, trying to get Solas to open up. Cullen rode with Cassandra.

“Are you sure this Warden is necessary?” Cassandra was asking as they rode up the hills to the Lake Camp.

“It couldn’t hurt to talk to him before we go to Redcliffe,” Cullen said. “It’s on the way.”

“And that chest piece is looking good,” she pointed out.

“I thought you’d like it,” he grinned. “Now we both have massive eyes on our chest pieces looking at people, don’t we? We should stand side by side and take turns trying to make them blink somehow.”

“Be that as it may,” Cassandra laughed. “You know mine looks better.”

“I’ll pass that on to Commander Trevelyan.”

They left their horses at the Lake Camp and climbed the rest of the way on foot. They came to Lake Luthias, where Cullen could see a man outside a hut. The man carried himself like a warrior, bearing sword and shield. He was talking to three frightened-looking farmers, who themselves held weapons uncertainly. Cullen crossed the boardwalk over the lake, heading to the hut. “Remember, you’re not hiding, you’re holding,” the dark-haired warrior was saying. The warrior wore a padded tunic with a simple breastplate bearing the insignia of the Gray. His black hair was swept back, slightly oily and unkempt, but his beard was a thing of beauty, parted down the centre and carefully waxed. Cullen felt a little jealous. All he could ever hope to accomplish as scruff.

Cullen approached the man. “Are you Warden Blackwall?” he asked, interrupting what he saw to be a drill about to begin.

The man known as Blackwall turned hard dark eyes to him. “Who are you? You’re not - who sent-”

A whizzing in the air thunked against Blackwall’s suddenly raised shield. Cullen was already drawing his weapons. “That’s it, help or get out! We’re dealing with these idiots first!”

“My pleasure,” Cullen said, turning to see bandits charging from across the lake. Cassandra and Varric were already in the fray.

“Conscripts! Here they come!” Blackwall led the charge, waving his sword. Cullen saw that the ‘Conscripts’ were less than keen, but followed Blackwall regardless.

The fight was short but brutal, with the bandits inevitably falling. Cullen, Cassandra and Varric stood over the dead as Solas dropped the barrier around them. Cullen swiped the blood off his sword and sheathed it. Blackwall knelt by one of the dead bandits, and Cullen couldn’t help but notice a look of regret on the old soldier’s face. “Sorry, bastards,” Blackwall said to the dead and rose up. There was no denying that Blackwall was a veteran, from the way he fought. “Good work, Conscripts. Even if this shouldn’t have happened, they could’ve… well, thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole, go back to your families, you saved yourselves.”

Cullen wondered if what was going on was all that it seemed. Had Blackwall galvinized these peasants to fight bandits? Cullen ambled over to Blackwall as the ‘conscripts’ walked off.

“You’re no farmer,” Blackwall noted. “Why do you know my name? Who are you?”

“My name is Cullen. I’m here investigating Gray Wardens for the Inquisition,” Cullen said, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword. “We’re seeing if their disappearance has anything to do with the murder of the Divine.”

“Maker’s balls,” Blackwall growled. “The Wardens and the Divine? That can’t-” He stopped and glared at Cullen. “No, you’re asking so you don’t really know.”

“Perhaps you’d care to shed some light on this matter?”

“First off, I didn’t know they disappeared. But we do that right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten,” Blackwall shrugged. “But one thing I’ll tell you, no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.”

“Then where are the rest of you?” Cassandra asked.

“I haven’t seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting,” Blackwall sighed. “Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no Blight coming. Treaties give Wardens the rightr to take what we need. Who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I-”

“You conscripted their victims,” Cullen finished. “You helped them fight.”

“Exactly. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me. Gray Wardens can inspire. Make you better than you think you are.”

Cullen felt a growing admiration for the man. But in the here and now, Blackwall was not being useful. “Inspiring but fruitless,” Cullen sighed. “You’re no help, Warden. I’m no further ahead than I was.”

Cullen turned to leave with Cassandra shaking her head in disgust as they began to head back to the Lake Camp. “This was a waste of time,” she muttered.

“Inquisition!” they heard. “Cullen, did you say? Hold a moment.”

Cullen stopped and looked over his shoulder. Blackwall strode up to them. “The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like this… thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved.”

Cullen nodded gravely. “You see to the heart of things, Warden Blackwall.”

“If you’re looking to put things right, maybe you need a Warden,” Blackwall said seriously. “Maybe you need me.”

Do we, Cullen wondered. But here was a veteran soldier offering his services to the Inquisition. Cullen smiled at the man. “Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.”

“Good to hear,” Blackwall seemed relieved. “We both need to know what’s going on, and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long.” He held out a hand.

Cullen took it and sealed their agreement with a handshake. “Welcome to the Inquisition,” he said. “Our base is at Haven. Can you make your way?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Blackwall said. “Give me some time and I’ll see you there. You have all my skills and treaties at your disposal, Cullen.”

“We prefer another name for him, Hero,” said Varric to Blackwall. Maker, Cullen thought. “Try Herald.”

Blackwall’s eyes widened. “Maker’s balls, you’re the Herald of Andraste?” he asked in awe. “Were you really saved by-”

“I honestly don’t remember,” Cullen cut him off, sighing as his blessed anonymity was blown by Varric. “I would prefer Cullen, if no one’s around to insist on Herald.”

“Sure, whatever you want,” Blackwall said in disbelief. “It appears I’ve had loftier guests than I anticipated.” He looked at Cassandra. “Are you the Queen of Antiva or something?”

“She’s Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand to Divine Justinia,” Varric supplied.

Blackwall looked surprised, but seemed to compose himself quickly. “An honour, my lady,” he said respectfully with a gentlemanly bow.

Cassandra nodded her head in acknowledgement, a slight smile on her face.

Blackwall turned to Varric. “And you are?”

“Me? I’m but a humble storyteller. Varric Tethras is my name. And Chuckles over here is known as Solas.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to Solas who nodded his greeting to Blackwall.

“Then I am honored to have fought with you all today,” Blackwall said. “If you need of me, I will follow you wherever you need me, Herald. This Warden walks with the Inquisition.”

+++++

They rode to Redcliffe, following the road that wound through the hills and valleys of the Hinterlands. Cullen was loving the new horse Master Dennet had gifted him - a Fereldan Forder. As a templar, he generally was never mounted, but now made a mental note to brush up on his mounted combat skills. Riding was too joyous not to do. They had to reign in to close rifts, fight demons and kill bandits, but their journey to Redcliffe was not hindered by these things. It was almost like an… excursion, he hated to admit. The more Cullen travelled, the more he enjoyed the encounters, the more he enjoyed being with the friends he travelled with. It was nicer than sitting in Haven all day, he was wont to admit.

The walls of Redcliffe came into view, the castle rising over the lake, its walls as red as the stones it was hewn from. There was a thunderous burst that Cullen began to recognize well. A rift had opened. They turned a bend in the road she reigned in, seeing a rift before the shut gates of Redcliffe. It sputtered and burst fitfully, spitefully, streams of green fire bursting from it and flaring on the ground. A Redcliffe guard was fleeing from it. A demon burst from a puddle of broiling green fire and black tendrils. “Varric, get up high!” Cullen commanded. “Solas, cover us. Seeker-”

But Cassandra was already spurring her horse forward, her sword drawn. Cullen charged after her, the hooves of their horses thundering in the wet mud. He rode down a demon, hearing the bones of it crushed beneath the hammers of his horse’s hooves. He and Cassandra wheeled around, their swords raised - standard Chantry tactics common to both the Seekers and the Templars. Their swords cut down the demons that clawed at them, his blade biting deep into the skull of a shade, blood spraying over his saddle and leg. The Forder actually whinnyed, tossing its mane with a sort of joy. “Savage,” Cullen scolded, and wheeled around again. A green demon of terror rose, spindly and screaming. It stood in a puddle of green glow. Cullen and Cassandra rode it down. Its scream rose and if struck faster than either of them anticipated. Cullen’s blade barely rose in time to parry the blow as he was struck from his horse. Cassandra dived from hers and rolled out of the way.

The demon’s claws scored the ground as Cullen rolled out of the way, Cassandra’s blade stabbed into its knee, her feet in the green puddle. As Cullen picked himself up, he saw her movements quicken. Could it be?

Crossbow bolts flew overhead, the demon bristling as they found the spots between its armoured hide. It screamed, swiping at Cassandra. Cullen felt a barrier rise over them. He entered the green puddle and… everything rose to a whine - sounds were faster, higher, quicker. His blade flashed in the air, cutting into the tendons of the demon, his shield rising as fast as the creature’s strikes, deflecting them. Cassandra landed a blow to the demon’s torso, a spray of blood splattering on her face as her sword bit deep into the demon. It screamed its last and fell, its body consumed by green flame that was absorbed by the rift.

The rift was above him now. Cullen braced himself and raised his marked hand to it. He could see Varric speaking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Cullen felt the mark flare, pulling him from within, drawing on him for its power. The connection was harder, faster, quicker, burning his hand from palm to elbow and then the rift burst fitfully above them. The puddle of green faded under his and Cassandra’s feet and Cullen sank, leaning on his shield to keep upright. Cassandra too slumped supporting herself with her sword. He felt exhausted, as if he had fought ten battles in the space of one. “What… was that?” he breathed hard, sweat beading his face and stinging his eyes.

“You both were… fast!” Varric jogged up to them with Solas in tow.

“Were we?” Cullen blinked. He forced himself to stand and sheathed his sword. “It felt like it.”

“We don’t know what these rifts can do,” Cassandra said, straightening up. “That one appeared to… alter the time around it.”

“Time-altering rifts?” Cullen growled. “Maker’s breath. Be on your guard.” He looked around. “Now where’s that savage of a horse?”

As they managed to round up their horses, the Redcliffe guard came jogging up to the gates once more. “Maker have mercy,” she breathed. “It’s over. Open the gates!” The chains of the gates clanked as they raised the imposing steel gate. Holding the reins of their horses, they walked through the gate.

An Inquisition soldier ran to meet them. He saluted and genuflected before Cullen, who wasn’t happy that this genuflecting was become a thing. “Stand up,” he said.

“Herald, we spread word that the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one was expecting us.”

“No one?” Cullen asked, surprised. “Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

“If she was, she hasn’t told anyone. We’ve arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations.”

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies,” an elf said as he hurried up to them, his mage robes flapping about his ankles. “Magister Alexius is in charge now but hasn’t arrived yet. He’s expected shortly.”

“Magister Alexius?” Cullen asked, his voice hard. Tervinters? A magister was in charge of the mages? Maker’s breath…

“Yes, he will be here soon. You may make yourself at home in Redcliffe, or speak to the former Grand Enchanter if you’d like.” The elf mage bowed and went away.

“Andraste’s tits,” Cullen grated.

“Surely the mages would not have aligned themselves with the Tervinters,” Solas said.

“We’ll see,” Cassandra growled. “If they have, this is the worst thing the Rebel Mages could have done.”

Cullen handed his reins to the Inquisition soldier. “See to it that they are sent to camp,” he said. “And activate the bird relay from here to Haven, in case anything untowards happens.”

“Yes, my Lord Herald,” the soldier saluted, holding the reins of Cullen’s horse. With their horses in the care of the soldier, they entered Redcliffe Village.

The village was a winding set of paths that descended the steep slopes of the hills to the banks of the lake. Above the village loomed the castle. Cullen has studied the defences of the castle, it was a masterpiece of construction and repelled thousands of assaults through the ages. As they walked, Cullen got turned around and they found themselves on the shores of the lake, looking up at the keep. “Don’t you think it’s strange?” Varric said then. “To think that it looks so pretty now, but during the Blight…”

“Redcliffe is one of the richest Arlings in Ferelden,” Cullen mused, seeing a book store. He ambled over to take a look at the books on sale.

“How’d that happen?” Varric was asking.

“Bann Teegan manages the lands well,” Cassandra said to Varric. She turned to look at Cullen. “What are you doing?”

“Just picking something up,” Cullen smiled slightly, tucking a small bundle into his waist pack. “Shall we head to the tavern? I’m turned around in this place.”

“You still have time to shop?” Cassandra asked, holding her sword at her hip to keep it from swaying as she walked, following the path up the hillside. .

“You were enjoying the view,” Cullen shrugged. They finally saw the tavern, a gull and a lantern sign at the entrance. Cullen glanced at Varric and Solas. “Be on your guard,” he said. “We don’t know what may happen in there.”

“You keep saying that, Curly,” Varric chuckled.

“We should be ready,” Solas said. “The Veil is not just thin here, but altered in a way I have never seen before.”

“Point taken, Chuckles, Bianca and I’ll be ready,” said Varric, raising both his hands in resignation.

They pushed open the door to the tavern. Within was no music, only a dim, dusty common room with light streaming in through the boarded up windows. There wasn’t even a barkeeper here. A woman sat at a table, she looked up at them entering. She stood up when she met Cullen’s eyes. “Grand Enchanter Fiona,” he greeted.

“Welcome, Agents of the Inquisition,” she nodded, her eyes suspicious. “What has brought you to Redcliffe?”

“Truly?” Cullen frowned. “You invited us here in Val Royeaux.”

“You must be mistaken,” she shook her head. “I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

“There isn’t any mistake,” Cullen said, his patience tested. “As the Templars were leaving, you came to me and asked me to come here.”

“The Templars have left Val Royeaux?” Fiona frowned in puzzlement. “Where did they go? That sounds… Why does that sound strange?” She sighed and shook her head. “Regardless, whoever or whatever has brought you here, the situation has changed. The Free Mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tervinter Imperium.

“Maker…” Cullen groaned, runnign his hand over his face.

“I’m trying to think of one worse thing you could have done,” Varric sighed. “And I got nothing.

“Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you? Cassandra asked.

“I understand that you are afraid,” Solas said. “But you deserve better than slavery to Tervinter.”

Fiona shook her head slightly, Cullen had the suspicion that these thoughts had entered her mind before and probably haunted her still. He felt a sting in his arm. Blasted mark. “As one indentured to a Magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you,” said Fiona.

“You would ignore the Brea-” Cullen began and was cut off when the door to the tavern opened.

Two magisters walked in. Cullen could feel the magic flowing from the man, slightly twisted than what he felt from Fiona or the other mages here. The two magisters were donned in Tervinter garb, all pointed and draconian. “Welcome my friends!” said the elder of the two. “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

“Agents, of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius,” Fiona said.

So this was indeed the Magister. Cullen felt an instant dislike for the man.

“The Southern Mages are under my command,” Alexius said breezily.

“Cullen Rutherford,” Cullen introduced himself.

“Ah, you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade?” Alexius’s eyes narrowed, his voice almost hungry, thoughtful. “Interesting.”

Cullen eyes hardened even as he nonchalantly stood with his hands resting on his pommel. “I’ve not seen any sign of the Arl or his men,” Cullen noted.

“Ah, the Arl left the village,” Alexius smiled urbanely.

“Bann Teegan would not abandon his lands even during the Blight,” Cassandra said.

“Well, there were tensions growing, I did not want an incident,” Alexius smiled.

Smarmy bastard, Cullen thought. Something was going on here. “I’m here because I require aid to close the Breach,” he said. That was true and good enough to start the conversation.

“Right!” Alexius beamed. “To business! I understand, of course. Come, sit down.”

They moved to a table where Cullen sat down opposite Alexius. “Felix, would you send for a scribe?” Alexius said. “Pardon my manners. My son, Felix friends.” Cullen looked up at the young man, who met his eyes and bowed politely. Alexius was smiling proudly at his son, who turned and went in search of a scribe.

“I am not surprised you’re here,” Alexius said then, looking at Cullen. “Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavour. Ambitious, indeed.”

Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, his hand stinging like blazes. “Well, when you’re fighting a giant hole in the sky, you can’t afford to think small,” he replied.

“Apparently not, Ser Rutherford,” Alexius smiled. “To think you were yourself a Templar, yet here you are seeking the help of mages."

 

"You are remarkably well informed about me," Cullen noted. "You can't have been here long."

 

"You are the Herald, or so I hear," Alexius smiled, something hungry in his eyes watched Cullen. "And coming all the way from Kirkwall besides, where this rebellion all began. It appears we're both not from around here. I was honestly pleased to hear that you were coming. I have been most... excited to meet you." Cullen bristled at the bizarrely hungry way Alexius was watching him.

 

"What were you doing coming to Ferelden?" Cullen askedm his scowl deepening.

 

"Ah, I was to observe this Conclave," said Alexius urbanely, spreading his hands as he leaned back. "Fortunately, I was delayed and made it in time to see the poor Mages scrapping throughout the Hinterlands. I took the effort to assist them. Now they are my charges. Withing ten years, they may even be full citizens of the Imperium, provided they repay their debt through conscription."

 

"You said not all of us needed to serve in that way," Fiona said urgently then. "We have children, elderly-"

 

"We will discuss this privately later, Fiona," Alexius shot her down. "We have heard so much about you, Herald. Truly, it was only a matter of time before we met." Alexius leaned forward, watching Cullen closely. "Did you really fall out of the Fade?"

 

Cullen glared at him. "I don't remember," he said simply.

 

"Ah, a pity. It would have been fascinating to hear about - of the Fade, of how you survived the explosion that leveled a mountaintop, of your... ah well. Back to the matter at hand then, before the sun sets. Mages, you require them, do you not?" He sat back and steepled his fingers, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. "Now, there will have to be-”

The sound of a scraping chair made them both turn. Felix was staggering , gripping a chair. Cullen was quickly on his feet and catching the young man as he fell. He felt something pressed into his hand. He caught Felix’s eye and closed his hand around the scrap of paper. What was the boy playing at? “My lord, I’m so sorry,” Felix said weakly. “Please forgive me!”

“It is of no moment,” Cullen muttered as he helped Felix stand and then hid the paper in his closed fist.

“Felix!” Alexius let out a strangled cry. He was on his feed by his son’s side. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, father,” Felix assured him.

“Come, I’ll get your powders,” Alexius said, ushering his son out of the Tavern. “Please excuse me, friends, we will have to continue this another time. Fiona, I require your help at the castle!” Alexius turned to Cullen. “I shall send word to the Inquisition. We will conclude this business at a later date,” he smiled.

“I don’t mean to trouble everyone,” Felix muttered apologetically.

Fiona bowed to Cullen and followed Alexius out the door. When they were alone in the Tavern, Cullen opened his hand to read the letter within. He saw his mark sparking and shook his hand fiercely to still it before reading the letter.

“What’s this?” Cassandra asked.

Cullen passed the note to her.

“Come to the Chantry, you are in danger,” she read. “Did Felix give this to you?”

“Yes,” Cullen replied, pleased to see the mark quietening after all that shaking. Solas gave him a disapproving look.

“So mysterious,” Varric noted.

“It might be a trap,” Cullen pointed out. Then he sighed and ran his hand through his hair, dislodging some locks. “Which doesn’t make a difference since we’re going to have to spring it anyway. I hate being led around by the nose.”

“Shouldn’t have become a Templar then,” Varric said mildly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, stuff happening in this extra long chapter. I should point out that I have no betas. It's just me thumping my keyboard until words come out and make a story. So if there are errors, you're going to have to 1) forgive them and 2) let me now where they are so I can fix them and avoid making a fool of myself haha. Also do share with me what you like or don't like. Comments make me happy to know that people are enjoying my story, are engaged with it or even hate it enough to let me know. :)


	7. The Magister's Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finds himself cordially invited to Redcliffe even after whispers of a trap and time magic.
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They stepped out into the daylight, Cullen drawing a breath. The Tavern was full of strangeness, secrets and magic. And now he had to go and spring a trap, possibly. He looked down at the mark, which was burning to his elbow, but not flaring.

“Should it be doing this, Solas?” he asked the elf. “It’s blazing up to my elbow, but there isn’t light.”

“The mark could be reacting to the alterations in the Veil here,” Solas said seriously. “Or it may be reacting to your agitation. May I suggest that you deal with it through the use of your will, rather than shaking it? If it is reacting to your emotional state, futile efforts would only exacerbate the problem.”

“Are you asking Curly to be not agitated?” Varric said. “That’s like asking the sun not to rise.”

“You’re certainly helping to reduce my agitation at the moment, dwarf,” Cullen said, balling his hand into a fist.

“Is that all that ails you now?” Cassandra asked, her eyes probing.

Cullen knew exactly what she meant. She had been watchful over him ever since he let her know he was stopping lyrium. “That’s all that troubles me at the moment, Seeker,” he reassured her. “I’m fine as long as we keep busy.” He sighed and rested his left hand on the pommel of his sword. Gripping something made the mark more bearable, and avoided inconvenient flaring. They made their way down the steps, heading to the Chantry.

The day outside was beautiful, yet not even the bright sun could lighten Cullen’s mood. The mages were proving to be a greater threat than they realized now that the mages were indentured to a Magister. Tervinter officially frowned on blood magic, but that prohibition wasn’t practically enforced. With such sanction, what were these mages going to be up to? He saw the elf mage who had met him at the gate watching Cullen with some surprise. The elf caught his glance and looked a little embarrassed. “Er… are you really with the Inquisition?” asked the elf. “Were you really looking to ally with us?”

Cullen ambled over, worried that sudden movements may scare the mage off. “I am, and I was,” he replied. “Is that so hard to believe?”

The elf shook his head. “Everyone blames us! Yet the Templars left as well, still they call this the ‘Mage Rebellion’. Isn’t their leaving the Chantry worse? They took an Oath! But what choice did we mages have? Stay and be slaves? It isn’t fair. I study hard, I passed my Harrowing, I sing the Chant and yet I’m to be locked up for life?”

Cullen remembered his oath. He could think of so many reasons why a Templar would leave the Order - many of which he applied to himself. Yet with that was mage was saying… Was it worse? The mages were subjugated for ages for reasons of safety. Was it so wrong for them to want freedom? And the Templars had been the arm of that subjugation. As much as Cullen wanted to say that they were under orders, he knew that wasn’t true. Their own fear made them punish the mages before they even did wrong. He should know. He’d done so himself. He sighed, the faces of Anders, Uldred and Meredith rising in his mind. “There were better ways for both mages and Templars to compromise,” he said with regret. “Sadly, we did not pursue them.”

The elf sighed wearily. “I hope you can do something. Tying ourselves to Tervinter? That can’t be the right way to end this…”

“You don’t approve the the Grand Enchanter's decision?”

The elf shook his head, looking troubled. “She really seemed to care what we wanted. She wouldn’t rebel unless it was the will of all mages. It’s hard to believe she’d go behind our backs to sell us to the Magisters.”

“Listen- What’s your name?” Cullen asked, feeling for the elf and the distress he was in.

“Lysas, ser.”

“Mine’s Cullen,” Cullen smiled. “The Inquisition is still looking for able and devout mages to help us. Part of being a free mage is choosing who you want to follow. You don’t have to follow Grand Enchanter Fiona. If you’d like, we could find a place for you and any other mages in the Inquisition.”

Lysas looked up at him in surprise. “Truly?” he asked. “The Inquisition would still take us in?”

“I won’t lie, it would come with safeguards for all, of course. It would not be without restrictions for both templars and mages,” Cullen pointed out. “But you are not bound to a Circle, and you will be able to serve Thedas, close the Breach and bring peace with us. Isn’t that what the mage rebellion wanted? Peace and freedom? Perhaps the Inquisition is the middle ground we both want.”

Lysas looked at him with slight suspicion. “You don’t know how the Templars treated us, but you want us to serve under them?”

“I do know,” Cullen sighed with regret, his mark throbbing. “I was a Templar, Lysas. I am Ser Cullen Rutherford. I served in both Kinloch Hold and in Kirkwall when this whole mess began. I fought against Knight Commander Meredith beside the Champion of Kirkwall, who himself was a mage.”

Lysas’s eyes widened. “Oh Maker, then you’re the…”

“The Herald of Andraste, but that’s not important right now,” Cullen waved away the thought. “Look, the point is, I am serious about finding that middle ground. If you do not trust my Templars, then trust me.” Lysas was silent, looking at him speculatively. “Think about it, Lysas. If you wish to join us, please come to Haven and look for myself or Commander Trevelyan.”

Lysas nodded slowly. “I will… have to think about it, Herald,” he said and bowed deeply to him.

Cullen moved on. “That was worthy of you,” Solas said to him, coming up behind him. “Not all mages agree with this foolhardy and desperate plan.”

“I agree. We need everyone we can get, so why not join us?” Cullen said, feeling glad for having spoken to Lysas. Maybe if they couldn’t sway Fiona to abandon this plan, they could sway some of the mages instead.

As they climbed the stairs to the Chantry, Cullen’s arm began to burn like blazes. He squeezed the pommel of his sword and forced himself not to wince. There was the sound of blasts from within. Cullen knew those sounds. “Rift,” he grated and drew his weapons, the others doing the same. He pushed open the door as he readied his shield. There, the usually red-lit Chantry, illuminated with candles, was now awash with green light. A rift sputtered and swirled over the altar like an abominable deity, and a man in the middle of it all, breathing hard and beating a demon down with his staff. The shade snarled and hissed, vanishing into green smoke that flew back into the rift. Cullen saw that the man was wearing the robes of a Magister. He swore inwardly, another Tervinter?

“Oh good, you’re here!” the man grinned at him, his mustache moving as he smiled. “Now help me close this thing, will you?” Cullen swore and raised his mark to the rift, too late as the rift flared anew with energy. He grit his teeth as pools of green flooded the floor throughout the stricken Chantry. “Stay out of the pools!” he snapped as the demons rose, snarling and charging them. He felt Solas’s barrier rise around him, saw Cassandra fiercely bash a demon with her shield as the man’s staff flung mage fire at the demons.

“Or stand in the ones that make you faster, maybe?” Varric said, holding Bianca and running around the fray. He found a pool and stood within it. As Cullen parried the strike of a demon’s claw, he saw Varric in the pool - his body flickering, his bolts flying with ferocious speed. Cullen’s sword cut into a demon, then a bolt bristled from its eye and it fell dead, fading into green fire. Varric’s bolts were felling demons like wheat before the scythe. Cullen ran to the rift and as the last demon fell, he raised his mark to it and felt the connection bind this time. Once again, from within him, his body fueled the mark as the rift sputtered and growled to a whine before bursting. Cullen’s arm was thrown free. “Maker’s breath!” he grated as he felt the pain flaring in his mark, as it always did when he used it. He held his wrist. Shut it! he yelled in his head, staring at the mark. It sputtered into stillness. Nice to know that worked.

Varric was picking himself up, breathing hard, looking exhausted. “I told you,” Cullen said to the dwarf.

“Totally worth it, Curly,” Varric grinned. “Let’s find another one!”

Cullen resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Fascinating!” the Tervinter mage breathed then as he sauntered up to Cullen. He looked at Cullen’s hand as Cullen held his wrist still. “How does that work, exactly?”

“Er.”

The mage laughed. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and poof! Rift closes.”

Cullen thought that was how all magic worked, but kept his opinions to himself. “Who are you?” he demanded instead.

“Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see,” the man smiled. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Another Tervinter,” Cassandra grated, sheathing her sword. “Be cautious with this one.”

“Suspicious friends you have here!” Dorian smirked.

“Suspicious times, suspicious man in a Chantry full of demons…” Cullen shrugged.

Dorian let out a quick laugh. “Very true! Perhaps I could have planned this meeting under more amenable circumstances - maybe in a field of flowers with unicorns and rainbows in the background. And wine.”

“Why are we here?” Cullen asked wearily.

“Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable - as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“So you sent the note?”

“I did,” Dorian said, his voice taking on a serious tone. “Someone had to warn you. You must know there’s danger, that should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if my magic, yes? Which is exactly right! To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself!”

“What?” Cullen growled as Varric let out a low whistle.

“That would be fascinating if it were true,” Solas noted mildly. “And almost certainly dangerous.”

“I need more proof than magical-time-manipulation-go-with-it,” Cullen insisted, crossing his arms.

Dorian frowned. “The Rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up, even slowed others down. Soon, there will be more like it. And it’ll spread further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

“Maker’s breath! Why should I believe any of this?”

“I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was his apprentice, it was purely hypothetical. Alexius could never get it to work. What puzzles me is why he’d doing it. Ripping time to shreds to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

Cullen heard footsteps coming up from the Chantry doors. “He didn’t do it for them,” Felix said, looking remarkably better than when he was in the Tavern.

“Took you long enough!” Dorian smiled at the man. “Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.”

“So why is Alexius ripping time apart?” Cullen asked.

“My father’s joined a cult of Tervinter supremacists. They call themselves “Venatori,” Felix said, looking at Cullen with hard dark eyes. “And I can tell you one thing: Whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“Me?” Cullen blinked. “Why in the Maker’s name would all this be necessary?”

“I have no idea,” Felix sighed. “Meeting you is all he’s talked about, however.”

“You know you’re his target now. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage,” Dorian said, his grip on his staff tightening, his voice a low growl. “I can’t stay in Redcliffe, Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.” He turned to leave through a side door. “Oh and Felix,” he called breezily over his shoulder. “Try not to get yourself killed!”

Felix frowned. “There are worse things than dying, Dorian,” he said quietly. He turned to Cullen. “I hope this mess ends with as little bloodshed as possible,” he said with a bow. “Good day to you, Herald of Andraste.” Then he too walked out of the Chantry.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “I hate mysteries,” he grumbled.

“This one is turning out quite interesting,” Varric said. “Aside from the Magisters and the demons. I should take notes.”

“This is not the time to make light of this,” Cullen said.

“-The Herald said, his eyes as hard as the ambition of a Chantry Cleric,” Varric said.

Cullen sighed as Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“Let’s get back to Redcliffe, I don’t think we can do much more here, aside from storming the castle,” he said wearily.

++++

They camped that night at the Crossroads Camp, ready ready to make their way back by morning. Cullen was weary but did not undo his armour. He never did when he was in the field. He sat by his campfire with Cassandra and Varric. Solas had adjourned to his tent to meditate. Cullen wondered if Solas were avoiding him for some reason. The Seeker stabbed at the fire to rouse it, a pot of rations and ham bubbling over over the fire. “Not too high, you'll burn it,” Cullen warned the Seeker.

“I know what I'm doing, Cullen.” She crushed some herbs and tossed them into the pot.

“This is a side of you I’ve never seen before, Seeker,” Varric said as Bianca sat unfurled on his lap. He easy tinkering with her using delicate metal tools which were laid out on a roll of black velvet.

“I was getting tired of Cullen's cooking, surely not everything has to to be boiled with plain water till gray,” she glanced at Cullen.

“Everybody's a critic,” Cullen sighed as a soldier saluted, handing him him a sheaf of reports. “Perhaps it was a ploy to get someone else to cook? It always seems to be my turn for some reason.” He untied the bundle of reports and started reading. Around him, Cassandra tended the stew, Varric’s tools tinkled in Bianca and the crickets sang their nightly serenade to the moon. Cullen smirked and passed passed a report to Cassandra.

Cassandra’s eyes skimmed over over the report. “Mangonels?” she asked in surprise. “She's asking for permission to commission mangonels?”

“At her own expense apparently,” Cullen said. “A donation from her family.”

“Don't we have trebuchets already?” Varric asked, looking up from his crossbow.

“She believes that the lower trajectory would be good against infantry attacks,” Cullen replied. “She's asking for naphta and pitch as well.”

“She wants to set fire to people?” Varric asked on surprise. “You mean to say Commander Trevelyan - short girl, big sword, mouth like a sailor, wants to throw fire on people with engines of war?”

“Scorched earth tactics are sometimes required,” Cullen said. “It wouldn't be my first choice but… you can't fault the tactics.”

“Actually, that’s entirely expected the more I think about her,” Varric whistled. “You sure pick the strangest. Even if she's your second choice.”

Cullen and Cassandra turned to stare at him. The decision decision to appoint Trevelyan had been made in a secret meeting. “How did you know about that?” Cassandra asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Seeker please, you don't expect me to walk around with my with eyes closed and ears shut, do you?” Varric said, spreading his arms innocently, tool held daintily in his hand.

Cassandra sighed. “She was not our first choice,” she admitted, turning to stir the stew with a wooden ladle. The smell of the food whet the appetite as it rose in the night air. “Captain Rylen was. Leliana thought that Trevelyan’s noble connections would be useful despite her inexperience, seeing as how we have little backing and support. The compromise between them now is that Rylen assists as her second in command. So now they work together.”

“Interesting,” Varric mused. “It’s pretty inconvenient that Curly got the mark isn’t it?”

“Understatement of the century,” Cullen said. “Are we letting her have the mangonels?”

Cassandra looked at Cullen. “What do you think, Herald?” she asked.

Cullen sighed inwardly. “I think we should, then. It costs us nothing and her reasoning is sound.”

Bianca clicked closed and Varric started putting away his tools into a velvet roll. “Good to hear it,” Varric said. “The more fire we rain down on them, the less fire they rain down on us. Old artificers’ saying.”

Cullen shook his head and took the dispatch back from Cassandra. He reached for his travel quill and small bottle of ink from his pack. Varric was standing up. “Where are you going?” she asked, sounding somewhat suspicious.

“I’m going on a date,” Varric grinned, patting Bianca. He shouldered the crossbow and whistled as he walked off out of the firelight into the forest.

“He’s going to shoot at things, I’m sure,” Cullen said, scribbling a reply on the bottom of the dispatch. He picked up the next, a report on missing soldiers in the Fallow Mire. He sighed, wondering if they should make a detour. Then he seemed to remember something. “Oh, by the way,” he blinked and reached into his waist pack, pulling out a book. Wordlessly, he handed it to Cassandra.

“What’s this?” Cassandra asked, amusement in her voice. She glanced at the cover and snatched the book away, hiding it behind her back. “When did you-”

“Redcliffe,” he said, looking at her in amusement. Cassandra was blushing furiously. “It’s the latest chapter, isn’t it?”

“Does he know?”

“Of course not,” Cullen chuckled. “What sort of fool do you take me for, Cassandra?”

She bit her lip in excitement. “Thank you, Cullen,” she said, quickly hiding the book in her pack. “I wonder if I’ll have time to read the first part!”

“I’m sure you’ll find time,” Cullen chuckled. “I’ll send word back to Haven. We still have a few things to deal with first, and we are pretty much sitting on our hands until either Alexius or the Orlesian nobles make their moves.”

++++

They returned to Haven five days later. There was news from Haven of a missing patrol in the Fallow Mire that rerouted them on their way home. That was an extremely uncomfortable journey through the damn pestilential bogs. Regardless, the soldiers had been rescued and a new agent joined their ranks.

It was afternoon when they arrived, the winter sun lancing golden down on the little town. They rode up to see work gangs of sappers in a flurry of activity around massive trebuchets in various stages of construction. Cullen’s eyes lit up. “So they’ve started on the trebuchets,” he said, sounding pleased.

“You can play with them later” Cassandra said. “We need to debrief the others.”

“Of course,” Cullen said, eyeing the trebuchets. They dismounted at the stable, the sounds of construction ringing out over Haven. Overseeing it all, standing behind a table outside her tent, was Evelyn.

“There’s your number one fan, Curly,” Varric pointed out.

“Andraste preserve me, does everyone have a snide comment to make?” Cullen sighed in exasperation.

“What snide comment?” Varric chuckled. “Don’t you know hero worship when you see it, Curly?”

“I think you’re being foolish and seeing things that aren’t there, dwarf,” Cullen insisted, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. Hero worship? That was preposterous. She was just… friendly. He sighed as he heard Varric chuckle and walk away into Haven.

He saw her look up at them and set a rock on the papers on the table to weigh them down. Then she slipped her massive sword across her back and walked over to them. “Seeker, I take it we’re being debriefed now?” she asked with a slight smile.

“Of course,” Cassandra said. “Interesting choice on the Herald’s breastplate.”

“Thank you, Seeker,” Evelyn sais simply and turned to look at Cullen, her blue eyes meeting his. “Hello, Herald, you only slightly still smell of swamp.”

“Maker, I thought I got it all off,” Cullen winced, sniffing his sleeve.

“Not all of it,” her eyes lingered on him.

He cleared his throat. “We should… get Leliana and Josephine,” he said, taking refuge in work. “Have the nobles replied?”

“Oh, yes,” Evelyn sighed. “And our dear friend the Magister has sent word to us as well. Let’s discuss this in the War Room.”

They adjourned to the War Room, the sound of the door clanging shut seeming to echo in the room. Cullen looked down at the map as Leliana, Josephine, Evelyn and Cassandra stood around the table. “I hear we’ve gotten some letters,” Cullen said.

“The first, from the Magister,” said Leliana. She handed him a scroll. On expensive parchment in florid writing, there was an invitation from Magister Alexius, asking Cullen to come meet with him in Redcliffe once more. Cullen read the letter, an eyebrow raised. “He’s very flattering,” he noted.

“So flattering that we’re almost certain he wants to kill you,” Leliana smiled.

“So he wants me to come pay a visit and we know for certain that it’s a trap,” Cullen said, setting the letter down on the table.

“Yet some of us want to sit and do nothing,” Leliana said, casting a glance at Josephine.

“Not this again,” Josephine glared back.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister,” Cassandra crossed her arms. “This cannot be allowed to stand.”

“With respect, I still think using force to get the Magister out is a terrible idea,” Evelyn said. “We won’t be able to storm the castle. It’s repelled thousands of assaults. Even with siege weapons, we don’t have the manpower.” Her blue eyes glinted in the torch light as she folded her arms, the sword on her back shifting with her movements. “And if you go in there alone, Herald, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means of closing these rifts.”

“And if we do not, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep,” Leliana said.

“Were we not garnering support from Orlais?” Cullen asked. “Couldn’t they lend us men?”

“An Orlesian Inquisition army marching in Ferelden would provoke a war,” Josephine said sternly. “Our hands are tied.”

Cullen leaned his hands on the war table with a sigh.

“But the magister-” Cassandra began.

“Has outplayed us,” Cullen cut in. “Then we have no choice. We must approach the Templars for help.”

“If we approach the Templars, we may not be able to return in time to confront the mages,” said Leliana.

“That is a risk we will have to take,” Cullen sighed. “Logistically, we are unable to confront Alexius at this time, it is too risky. But with our forces bolstered with Templars, we will be in a better position to do something in Redcliffe."

 

"Besides, the Order was founded to fight magic - whether the Breach or this Alexius," Evelyn added. "If he's using time magic, we will need Templars to combat it anyway."

 

Cullen nodded. "The Magister’s invitation can wait until we at least get an audience with the Templars. Should that fail, then we will think of an alternative with the mages - perhaps an alternative way into the castle or drawing him out in some way. Leliana, you could think of something, couldn’t you?”

She touched her finger to her lip. “Given time,” she said thoughtfully.

“Till then, we focus our attention on the Templars.”

“First, we must convince the Lord Seeker to bring the Templars out of exile,” Leliana said.

“That’s where it gets tricky. The Lord Seeker isn’t interested in dealing with anyone ‘unimportant’, after all.” Cullen said, straightening up and resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. The sarcasm in his voice was barely noticeable.

“If it is status, the Lord Seeker seeks, the Inquisition will approach him after allying with the noblest houses in Orlais,” Josephine said, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Really?” Cullen groaned inwardly. Magisters and nobles, both felt equally painful.

“Ten noble houses have elected to join their voice with ours at Therinfal Redoubt and demand that the Templars close the Breach,” Leliana said.

“Ten?” Cullen blinked. “I wasn’t expecting so many.”

“Lady Trevelyan and I were able to reach out to more families than we expected,” Josephine said.

“Playing the game already, Commander?” Cullen murmured.

“Always, Herald,” Evelyn smiled.

“Even the Lord Seeker would find it hard to ignore so many nobles on his doorstep,” Cassandra smiled.

“Especially when led by the Herald of Andraste,” Leliana added.

“That didn’t matter to him in Val Royeaux, I doubt it would matter to him now,” Cullen pointed out. “I was hoping the nobles would be enough.”

“Rumours that you were saved from the Fade by Andraste have grown legion among the Templars,” Leliana replied. “A Herald with only a few companions may be easily set aside, but a Herald returning with noble support will be reconsidered, as will the power of the Inquisition.”

“And the Templars will be watching,” Evelyn said. “If they reconsider the Lord Seeker’s orders…”

“The Lord seeker may just rethink his stance,” Cassandra smiled.

Cullen sighed. “With respect, hang what the Lord Seeker thinks,” he snapped. “We don’t need him, just his Templars. With or without his approval. The Breach will not wait while we play politics.”

“Lord Abernache will be leading the nobles,” Josephine said. “Sign nothing he offers you.”

“Right,” Cullen said. He was pleased that they had come to the decision to approach the Templars, but the thought of dragging nobles with him made his hair ache. “Sign nothing he offers me. I’ll make it a point to remember. We can leave at dawn tomorrow once preparations are complete.”

As they filed out of the War Room to make preparations, Cullen walked over to Evelyn. She looked up at him. He kept forgetting that she was so short. Almost elf sized. “Want to look at the trebuchets, Herald?” she asked.

“Yes!” Cullen said, then chuckled in embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck. “That came out a little too enthusiastic.”

Evelyn shook her head, smiling in amusement as she led the way out to the trebuchets. Cullen was in love. With the trebuchets, of course. He pored over the plans with great interest, curious about every detail. He followed her to speak to the sappers, who briefed him on the calibrations the trebuchets required. In all his years as a templar, he had never once worked with such an engine of war. Yet he had read all about them and their prowess in the treatises he studied, in the history books, in the novels of war he so liked to read. And now there were two in Haven. He was beside himself.

He didn’t realize it but the sun was setting and fires were being lit in Haven. Evelyn touched his elbow as he stood by the trebuchet, looking over the plans, the wind coming off the frozen lake tugging at the paper. Beside him, the head sapper he was speaking to looked exhausted. “Herald,” she smiled. “You think you might let the man knock off for the day?”

Cullen looked up at the last light of sunset staining the mountain. “Maker’s breath! Has it been that long?” he exclaimed. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize-”

“Thank you, Captain Hienrich,” Evelyn smiled, dismissing the man, who went away gratefully. Then she turned to Cullen. “Had your fill?”

“Sort of.”

She held out her hand for the trebuchet plans. Cullen sighed and handed them over. “I’ll have them ready for a full and thorough inspection when they are ready, Lord Herald,” she said impishly. “You can inspect them all day if you like.”

He chuckled, resting his hands on the pommel. “I did get a little carried away,” he admitted.

“It was charming,” she said, her eyes catching his.

He found himself looking back into her eyes, wondering… He cleared his throat. That was a foolish notion.

She frowned slightly. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” she asked then.

“No! No, I just…” Just what? His mind was a blank.

She seemed to understand, a slight disappointment in her eyes. “I should get back to my duties then,” she said, tapping the rolled up plans against her thigh awkwardly. “Still plenty of study to do, reports to read, that sort of thing.”

She turned stiffly to leave, glancing aside as awkwardness bloomed between them.

He caught her arm. “A moment,” he said. She turned, looking surprised. He reached into his waist pack and pulled out the small package he had carried from Redcliffe. It was warm from resting against his body. He handed it to her. “You might want to… give this a look,” he said, his breath misting in the cold only to be tugged away by the wind.

She looked up at him, puzzled yet pleased. She tucked the rolled up plan under her arm and took the package. She unwrapped it, only to start chuckling quietly to herself.

“I just thought of you- when I saw it,” Cullen said and winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maker, this sounded better in my head.”

“A treatise on Chevalier training methods,” she smiled up at him, hugging the book to her chest. “Where did you get this?”

“There was a dwarf in Redcliffe selling books… It was a text I studied from long ago,” he sighed, suddenly feeling a little foolish. “I just thought-”

“I’ll read it.”

He stared at her, the fervour in her voice was undeniable. “If you found use in it, so shall I,” she said.

“Oh.” He paused and smiled. “Good.”

She nodded her goodnight to him and turned with a pleased smile on her face, clutching the book to her chest with a little spring in her step. Cullen thought back to Varric’s words. Hero worship? That couldn’t be the case. Of all the people to call a hero, and she picked him? Impossible.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dorian! As charmingly smarmy as ever. I can't wait to write more of him! What did you think of this latest installment? My weekend draws to a close so updates will be slowed.


	8. The Red Templars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen seeks out the Templars for aid against the Breach and the Magister in Redcliffe, only to realize they are all stained with red.

It thundered in Therinfal. The sky was slate gray with fitful storm clouds that rained a relentless drizzle. The rain insidiously seeped into clothes and clung to the skin through Cullen’s armour. His fur was soaked, which annoyed him. It was going to take forever to dry at this rate. Not to mention his hair was starting to come free from the beeswax with all the rain. He ran his hand through his hair, pushing his fringe back. Blast this rain.

The Inquisition Forces were camped at the outermost bailey of the Redoubt, beyond trebuchet range. Cullen was no fool and neither was Rylen, who was sent to oversee the camp and security. Cullen slipped his sword into his belt, Rylen standing with him as they waited for the noble to show up.

“Don’t storm the keep,” Cullen said. “That would be a phenomenally bad idea. If necessary, we’ll send up a flare. Only then, as a last resort, send in the forces to pull out as many nobles and Templar survivors as possible.”

“Yes, Herald,” Rylen said. “I hope we won’t be needed.” He looked at Cullen. “I don’t want to fight old friends.”

Cullen sighed. “Me too,” he said wearily. “I trained some of the men who followed the Lord Seeker. With any luck, this will go smoothly and we’ll be back at Haven in two days.”

Rylen paused. “Do you really think so?”

“I’m trying not to be cynical here, don’t ask me that,” Cullen muttered.

“Don’t annoy anyone, Cullen. I don’t want to storm the Seeker Keep to fight Templars,” Rylen said seriously.

“I don’t want that either,” Cullen reassured him. Don’t annoy anyone? Maker… He hoped this would stay civil. “Are the Seeker, Solas and Varric waiting at the bridge?”

“They went up earlier. They’re not the one who has to wait for this noble to appear,” Rylen said.

Cullen looked down the road. “Nobles, you mean,” he muttered. There were ten lords and ladies approaching him. Their silks were splotched and mottled in the rain. Their fine masks looked like they were weeping. Walking up the wet and slippery path, they seemed out of place, like a bizarre parade. Ahead of the nobles was a man in a fine mask of gold, his puffed sleeves wet and dimpled. Cullen put on his talking-to-nobles face - a deadpan look of extreme politeness. “My Lords and Ladies,” he greeted as Rylen straightened to attention beside him.

“Herald of Andraste!” said the lord. “Lord Esmeral Abernache. Honored to participate. It is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed Dales.”

“What?” Cullen let slip. “I mean- I’ll take your word for it, my lord.”

Esmeral chuckled. “Ah, but I’m sure divinity puts you above such things.”

Cullen was at a loss. What in the Void was he talking about? He didn’t realize it, but he’d started to frown in puzzlement.

Esmeral moved on when he saw Cullen’s expression. “The Lord Seeker is willing to hear our petition about closing the Breach, a credit to our alliance with the Inquisition,” he said. “Care to mark the moment? Ten Orlesian houses walk with you!”

Cullen sighed inwardly. “The Inquisition values this Alliance, Lord Abernache,” he said as politely as he could, carefully rearranging his face. “We can’t let the Breach endanger us any longer. The Templars must aid us in closing the Breach.”

“Oh yes, ghastly looking thing,” Esmeral drawled as they fell in step, following the path through the baileys to the main keep, leaving Rylen at camp. “The Lord Seener can’t think we’re ignoring it. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you’d divulge what finally for their attention? Rumour will, if you won’t.’

“I don’t understand.”

“The Lord Seeker won’t meet us unless he greets the Inquisition “in person”. Quite a surprise after that spat in Val Royeaux.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Quite a surprise indeed,” he said. Meeting him in person? Why did that sound so… Tervinter? Was this another trap? Surely the Lord Seeker would not be allied to Venatori.

“Then it must have been the work of your Ambassador. Let the diplomats do their magic, if you trust them.” They continued walking. “Between you and I, the Chantry never took advantage of their Templars. Wiser heads should steer them.”

“Oh?” Cullen said, his expression tightly controlled. He knew all about the Chantry taking advantage of the Templars. What did this idiot know about it? They came up to the bridge that led into the keep of Therinfal Redoubt. The red templar standards hung from the walls, dripping like blood in the rain. Cullen felt a pang of nostalgia.

The nobles crossed the bridge as Cullen and Esmeral stopped. “Present well, Herald,” Esmeral said quietly to him. “Everyone is a little tense for my liking.”

At the gates, Cullen could see the nobles addressing the Templars stationed there. Cullen felt a pang of sympathy as he and Esmeral walked past the group, seeing the harrowed faces of the Templars. But they turned to look at him and their eyes widened into an expression of awe. That disconcerted him greatly, especially since he recognized some of them.

Cassandra, Solas and Varric fell into step behind him and Esmeral. Cullen dropped back to join them. “The Lord Seeker abandoned the White Spire for this?” Cassandra murmured.

“It screams ‘I hate fun and kick puppies’, doesn’t it?” Varric noted.

“He also changed his mind about us very quickly,” Cullen muttered. “I don’t remember him being known to be fickle.”

“Attack of conscience? I hear they happen once or twice an age,” Varric said.

Lord Abernache walked ahead of them as they approached the gate, where a Templar was waiting. Cullen recognized him. As Esmeral approached the Templar, Esmeral’s attache said. “I present, Knight Templar Ser Delren Barris, second son of Bann Jevrin Barris of Ferelden. “Ser Barris, may I be so honored as to present Lord Esme-”

Barris caught Cullen’s eye and strode past the man. “Herald,” he saluted.

“Ser Barris,” Cullen returned the salute. “We got your letters.” He was pleased to see the man. Even as a recruit, Barris had been a steady and loyal man.

“We’re glad you’re here, Herald,” Barris said, then glanced at Abernache. “But we did not expect you to bring such… lofty company.”

“Barris,” Esmeral said thoughtfully, crossing his arms and joins them. He didn’t looked pleased to be ignored. “Moderate holdings, your family. And the second son?”

Barris and Cullen glared at him, then they turned to each other once more. “This promise of status has garnered interest from the Lord Seeker, beyond sense,” Barris said to Cullen. “The sky burns with magic but he ignores all calls to action until your friends arrive.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen sighed in frustration as he rubbed the back of his neck. “He does know that’s a rift to the Fade up there, doesn’t he? With demons pouring out?”

“The commanders say he’s ‘considering the situation.’ Maker knows how.” Barris sighed. He crossed his arms and continued tensely, “The Lord Seeker’s actions make no sense! He promised to restore the Order’s honour, then marched us here to wait? We know our duty, even when held from it.”

“How refreshing to meet a Templar who remembers his charge,” Solas murmured barely under his breath.

Cullen shot him a dark look. He would have to discuss this with the elf later. “Win over the Lord Seeker, Herald, and every able-bodied knight will help the Inquisition seal the Breach,” Barris urged.

“That’s why we’re here,” Cullen said. “Where are the officers?”

“They are a mystery lately,” Barris shook his head. “We’ve been asked to accept much after that shameful display in Val Royeaux. Out truth changes on the hour.”

Cullen frowned, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. “That is not how it should be.”

“Regardless, it’s-”

“Don’t keep your betters waiting, Ser Barris, There’s important work to those born to it!” Esmeral snapped then. Cullen and Barris exchanged a glance, both sharing dislike for the man, but Barris turned to lead them inside the gates into the inner courtyard. Templars stood in the courtyard, watching him with great interest, their eyes questioning, some even hoping. He could hear his name being whispered. He was known to them. Like Ser Barris, some of them he had trained. But they called him by another name as well. “Herald.” When he decided to leave the Templars, he never thought he’d return to them like this. There was an undertone of frustration here. He could feel it. Years of being a Knight Captain made the mood of the men clear to him. Many did not want to be here. Many questioned why their orders. The Templars were not pleased to be holed up in Therinfal Redoubt.

And there was something else he was picking up. Cullen frowned at the familiar smell of the place. A familiar song echoing from the blood of the Templars that surrounded him. Lyrium. He never noticed it after years of being a Templar, but stopping lyrium left a gaping emptiness inside, like the hollow breath of wind in a cavern. He gripped the pommel of his sword, his heart beating to the sound of the song like an old familiar tune at the edge of thought. Of course there would be the song of lyrium here, not to mention the smell - a dull metallic smell like copper on the tongue and fire on your lips, burning when it the draught slid down your throat. He pulled his mind from the thought. He had come so far… And it was just a smell, just an echo of a song. It couldn’t do anything to him. It couldn’t change his decision. He saw Cassandra watching him. That slightly annoyed him. She was concerned. She didn’t have to be.

Barris stopped before three standards on pulleys against the wall. Cullen looked up. He knew the ritual. “Is this necessary?” Cullen asked.

“What’s this?” Esmeral demanded.

“These are the Standards,” Barris explained. “An honored rite centered on the people, the Maker and the Order.” He turned to Cullen. “The Lord Seeker asked that you perform the rite so that he may see the order in which you honour them.”

“The Lord Seeker makes us shuffle flags around?” Esmeral snapped impatiently. “Refuse! Let’s meet the man already!”

“Do you wish to insult the Templars?” Cullen retorted, his patience wearing thin. He felt his temple beginning to throb. He turned to Barris. “We will do this rite, if that’s what the Lord Seeker asks of the Inquisition”

“Not the Inquisition,” Barris whispered. “You. The Lord Seeker changed everything to meet you - by name. Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. This sounded too familiar. “Why?” he asked, harsher than he anticipated.

“I don’t know,” Barris whispered. “He’s been fixated on you ever since your horde of nobles arrived.”

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. Was this a trap like Redcliffe? Why so eager to meet him specifically? Could the Lord Seeker be allied with Venatori? He sighed and walked up to the flags. He started to raise them without a word. First, the people, then the Templars, finally, the Maker.

If Barris was surprised, he hid it well. “Traditionally, one’s choices are now explained,” he said.

“You know why, Barris,” Cullen said. He looked up at the Templars, some watching from the top of the battlements, some loitering in the courtyard. “Any Templar here knows why.”

There rose a murmuring from the watching Templars. Those gathered in the courtyard, even those watching from the walls began to speak. They were doubting. Perhaps he could walk away with Templars after all. They must know that staying here while the Breach remained went against everything the Order stood for.

“May we proceed?” Cullen asked.

“I think not!” Esmeral crossed his arms. “I’ll not be shut out from any explanation these clods understand.”

“And I suppose that’s your intention,” Barris snapped at the man.

“My intention is to deal with people who matter!” Esmeral sneered. “You helmed louts are wasting the Inquisition’s time - and my time! Unacceptable!”

Cullen bit back all the things he wanted to say to the man then. He rested his hands on the pommel of his sword and spoke with as much patience as he could, his voice grating. “The Maker is at the heart of what we Templars do, we serve Him and in so doing, serve the people,” Cullen said, his head throbbing. “Will that suffice your desire for understanding, Lord Abernache? Isn’t that what Templars do? Serve? Not hide here in a castle while the world falls apart.”

The murmuring grew. Some conversations were beginning to sound quite heated.

Barris smiled at Cullen. “Then the Lord Seeker awaits you both, follow me.”

They adjourned to an antechamber where a table was laid out in the centre. Along the walls of the room, Templars stood, watching him with curiosity in their eyes. He said nothing. He could feel their scrutiny, their eyes taking in the Templar bracers he still wore, the Inquisition breastplate. To their credit, they maintained their attention even as their eyes subtly roved. As an ex Captain, Cullen approved of this apparent show of discipline. Esmarel had taken to the table. “Now where is the Lord Seeker!”

“We will await him here,” said Barris evenly. “He will come. He speaks with the officers.”

Cullen stood at the table and waited. He didn’t feel like talking. His head was beginning to throb painfully and Abernache made his fists itch.

“Why waste time with this fool,” Esmeral grumbled. “Summon the Lord Seeker at once!”

“You cannot make demands of the Lord Seeker’s time!”

“What about my time! A second-fiddle son not important enough to inherit wastes my time in this putrid dump-”

“Shu- Be patient, my Lord Abernache,” Cullen nearly lost it, pinching the bridge of his nose. “With respect.” Cullen heard Varric sigh in relief behind him.  

“You tell me to be patient, Herald?” Esmarel raised his voice. The door at the other end of the antechamber burst open then, startling them.

“Knight Captain!” Barris exclaimed, whipping his head to the door.

Cullen looked up. Half a dozen Templars were walking into the room, their plate gleaming and glowing with… something red. Redder than the fires of the torches that lit the room from their sconces. Cullen could hear a song from them as well, resonating darker, a metallic counterpoint to the familiar hum of lyrium. He frowned. Something tugged at him, made the last traces of lyrium in his blood seem to sear and sing in dischord to what flowed in their blood.

He knew this feeling. He’d felt this song from another in the past.

Meredith.

Maker’s breath - surely these men had not been corrupted by red lyrium...

The new Templars were led by a Knight-Captain Cullen knew. The Knight Captains often travelled to the White Spire for training or conferences in lieu of their Commanders. Cullen has met the man before. “Denham?” Cullen greeted, eyeing him.  

Denham looked at him and smirked. “You were expecting the Lord Seeker,” he said to Cullen. “Sorry, Cullen. He sent me to die for you instead.”

“What are you on about, Denham?” Cullen frowned, his hand resting near his sword.

“Knight Captain,” Esmeral drawled, approaching the Knight Captain. “Honored. It is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed Dales.” Denham stared at him. “But I suppose rank puts you above such things. A pity more people don’t understand that.”

Denham chuckled in Esmeral’s face. “This is the grand alliance the Inquisition offers, Cullen?” he said. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected more from you. But you were ever a soft touch even then. Now you show up with this fop as your backing?”

“Where’s the Lord Seeker, Denham?” Cullen asked, his head throbbing.

“Yes!” Esmeral said. “Let me also extend my hand to the gracious Lord Seeker. Knight Captain?”

There was sounds filtering in through the doors then. Sounds of shouts and ringing steel against steel. Cullen’s hand stiffened by his sword. “The Lord Seeker had a plan,” Denham said. “But you’ve ruined it by arriving with purpose, Cullen. You’ve sowed… too much dissent.”

Barris stepped forward, trepidation in his eyes as he looked at the doors, the sounds of battle coming from within. “Knight Captain! I must know what is happening!”

Denham pushed him away, his gauntleted hand shoving Barris’s shoulder. “You were all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge the questioning knights!”

Barris backed away from Denham. Cullen saw the knights behind Denham drawing their weapons. Cullen didn’t wait, reaching for his sword.

“For once, I agree with the-” Esmeral began and was silenced with an arrow through the head.

“The Elder One is coming!” Denham proclaimed as the arrows flew but not at Cullen - they pierced the Templars that stood vigil over the meeting, their bodies bristling with arrows as they fell down dead.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cassandra growled at Denham.

Denham turned to them, grinning, his eyes aglow with a red that Cullen had seen in Meredith’s eyes - red lyrium. They had taken it! “No one will leave Therinfal who is not stained red! Not even you, Seeker!”

Cullen heard the whizzing and his shield shot up in front of the stunned Barris, the arrow aimed at Barris breaking on his shield. “Focus!” Cullen barked at him. “Sword up! Now!”

“Maker’s breath!” Barris breathed, drawing his weapons as Cassandra snarled fiercely and vaulted over the table at Denham, her sword flashing and her shield in hand. Denham parried her blow, but the Seeker was unstoppable. She would have her satisfaction. Cullen blocked a blow from an attacking red templar as a barrier sprung up around him. He deflected the sword strike and slashed into the leathers between the man’s breastplate and hip guards. His strike cut true, blood staining his sword as Cullen followed his first swing to parry the blow of another red templar. He rammed the man with his shield, pushing him off balance. Cullen felt a pang of recognition, the man was familiar. He grit his teeth and stabbed the templar in the neck.

Pain burst in his side and Cullen staggered forward, drawing up his shield to defend himself. He saw red light firing at him, the sound of crystalline shards shattering against his shield. It was from Denham, red lyrium fired out from the man’s hand. A blast of cold caught Denham, breaking off the attack. Then Cassandra was there, bashing Denham with the flat of her shield with a ferocious cry. Denham fell back, slumping to the ground in a heap.

Cassandra stood over the fallen Templar. “What have they done?!” she snarled.

“They appear to have ingested red lyrium,” Solas said gravely.

“Andraste’s tits!” Varric swore, that note of slight panic in his voice. “Why would they do that?”

Cullen was wincing as he turned to look at his side. Red crystals glowed in the wound. The song was stronger when they were on him. He grit his teeth and brushed them off, opening the wound. Blood began to ooze from a florette-shaped break in his leathers.

“Cullen,” Cassandra breathed, coming to him, her sword stained with blood and her eyes filled with worry.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

“Solas, can you help him?”

The elf stepped towards him, his footfalls silent. He placed a glowing hand onto the break in Cullen’s leather. Cullen felt the heat from the wound bloom anew and bore the sting as his skin closed. The blood flow stopped. “Thank you, Solas,” Cullen murmured.

“This guy’s still alive,” Varric pointed out, prodding Denham in the head with the metal toe of his boot. “What do you want to do, Curly?”

Cullen straightened up.

“If you push yourself, you may open the wound,” Solas warned.

Cullen nodded. “Solas, please help me send up a flare. Rylen will know what to do.”

Solas nodded and went to the door leading to the courtyard. “Barris, Varric, bind him and leave him here. Rylen will mop up after us,” he commanded and swiped the blood off his sword. “We will find his master once you’re done.”

“They have ingested red lyrium,” Cassandra’s voice cracked like a whip. “Does the Lord Seeker know about this?”

“Is the Lord Seeker part of this?” Cullen asked. He saw her eyes glittering with sullen anger. “I’m sorry, Cassandra, but right now, we must suspect everyone. If the Knight Captain is shooting red lyrium out of his hand, his Commander is suspect.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded unhappily.

“He’s bound,” Varric said, straightening up from where he knelt beside Denham’s unconscious body.

“We have his keys,” Barris said. “I would like to know about this… Elder One.” He tossed the keys to Cullen.

“As do I,” Cullen growled. The damn song was humming in his ears, his head was splitting. He greatly wanted to hit things to dull either the song or the pain or both.

“They are monstrous!” Cassandra growled, looking down at the corpse of a red templar.

“The last time we saw a templar with red lyrium, she tore down half the Gallows,” Varric said ominously. “I hope we don’t run into a horde of Meredith's, eh, Curly?”

“Let’s move on,” Cullen growled, heading to the door through which the Knight Captain entered. They came to an empty and decrepit hallway, rushes on the floor rotting with the damp from the leaking ceiling. Cullen did not sheathe his sword. He ran up the steps. The Lord Seeker would barricade himself in the safest place in the keep with a melee raging outside. That would mean the main hall or a tower. Cullen took the steps two at a time with the others following him.

A voice made him stop and raise his sword to the dimness. “Prepare them!” it snarled. “Bring them to me…”

“Is that the Lord Seeker?” Cullen exclaimed.

“Where?” Cassandra raised her blade.

Cullen glanced at her. “I… heard him.”

“I did not hear anything.”

“You alright, Curly?” Varric asked, a note of concern in his voice.

Cullen lowered his sword, gritting his teeth. “Nevermind,” he snarled and moved on, kicking open the door in front of them because… he felt like it. His head was throbbing. It felt like it was going to burst. The sound of the melee filled the air from the courtyard beyond. Cullen saw Templar battling Templar, some glowing with red flaring from within their very veins. Cullen grit his teeth and charged into the fray.

He charged a red templar, his shield catching the first slash. Cullen’s blade cut him down from neck to chest through the joints of his armour. A bolt felled another charging red templar and Cullen charged the next, his shield held low, his sword close to his chest and aimed at the templar. The templar blocked his first strike with his shield, but Cullen moved automatically, catching the templar’s shield with the corner of his own to open his defence. He moved to stab the red templar in the gut. “You will be so much more, Cullen.” he heard once again, the voice cutting through his thoughts like flame in a fog. Cullen hesitated.

He grunted as he was kicked in the knee. He fell to the spare knee and blocked an overhead slash with his sword. With sheer force, Cullen pushed back and rose up, slashing the man across the neck. He breathed hard, his knee a trill of pain while his head was steadily growing into a symphony of agony to match the song of the red lyrium.  

“Show me what you are…”

“Leave me...” Cullen growled, holding his head with his shield hand.

Like a sliver down his spine, the voice spoke once more. “I would know you…”

“Leave me!” Cullen shouted. A ringing in his head - cages, barriers glowing soft pink around him. Eyes watching, the smell of the corpse of Ainsley, good friend, now dead - he fought the demons until he could not, then he died in Cullen’s arms. Eyes watching him narrowed and then there was pain, burning him from within. Voices in his head whispered, fingers unseen clawing at his skin... “Let us in-”

“LEAVE ME!” Cullen screamed.

“Cullen!”

He blinked, feeling himself shaken by the shoulders. His eyes focused on Cassandra, holding his pauldrons. “Pull yourself together!” she snapped.

He was breathing hard, his mouth dry like sandpaper. He realized that Varric, Solas and Barris were staring at him in shock. The sound of the melee was distant now, the fight in their immediate area was over and the dead templars littered the ground.

He pushed her hands from his shoulders, willing his feet to be steady. “I’m fine,” Cullen breathed, shaking his head and regretting it instantly when the world threatened to spin.

Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “Then we should move on,” she said, drawing her sword and shield once more.

“Is this a good idea?” Varric asked, watching Cullen as he held Bianca at the ready.

“Yes,” Cassandra said, watching Cullen. “He can manage. I believe in him.”

Cullen’s eyes caught hers. She meant that, he knew. Every fibre of her being screamed it. He drew his breath. “I can manage, Varric. Barris, how many more levels to the main hall?”

“We are on the second, Herald,” said Barris. “There’s two more, the main hall is on the fourth and highest level.”

Cullen nodded. “Then that’s where our Lord Seeker will be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [jlsigman](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JLSigman/pseuds/JLSigman) for helping me as beta! Here's to fewer typos! :D 
> 
> Let me know what you think. Cullen's journey to Therinfal required a break in the script due to his backstory. Things are beginning to turn strange on him. Stranger, more like.


	9. Cullen's Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen enters the darkness of a demon's dream once more.

Cullen carried his sword tightly, his head throbbing and his side burning from the pain. Even his knee was unsteady. He needed to think about getting stronger protection for his legs than simple leather knee pads. The song of red lyrium was powerful, echoing in his being, resonating in his blood. He put his shield hand to his side. They climbed the stairs to the third level, where the remains of a fight was evident. Dead templars littered the ground - some turned red with red lyrium, others merely stained red with blood. He avoided looking at their faces.

 

“Maker’s breath,” Barris choked. “This is-”

 

“Don’t look at them, Ser Barris,” Cullen snapped. “Focus on finding the one responsible.”

 

Barris’s jaw twitched and he nodded. He pointed across the courtyard. “There, Herald. That’s the Knight Captain’s office. His keys open it.”

 

“Is this the time?” Solas asked.

 

“We might as well,” Varric replied.

 

Cullen drew the keys from his waist pack and walked to the door. The key ring had over a dozen keys all to various doors of the keep. He frowned and tried a few in the lock of Denham’s office.

 

“Maybe I can-” Varric began.

 

Cullen stepped back and levelled a kick on the lock. His muscles flared with… surprising power and the wood broke under the strength of his kick. It made him feel better, the song dimming with the splintering of wood.

 

“Or, not,” Varric muttered. Cullen caught him glancing worriedly at Cassandra, who had her watchful eyes on Cullen. Cullen knew that she remembered her promise - should he be unsuitable, she was to stop him. He would trust no other. She was watching him now. What was he doing? Was the kick really necessary? He pushed open the remains of the door as the stench of death rolled out.

 

A corpse lay beside a lit brazier, drying in the heat of the coals. Cullen knew the uniform. The corpse wore the finest Templar Regalia. “The Knight-Vigilant,” he muttered, holding his hand over his nose as he walked past the body.

 

“But he died at the Conclave!” Barris exclaimed. “Or did he? Maker… did the Knight Captain kill him?”

 

Cullen stood at Denham’s desk, rifling through the papers there. He pulled one from the pile and read it with his eyes glittering with dull fury. “Yes,” he said, showing the letter to Cassandra.

 

“He lived,” Cassandra frowned as she read the letter. “And was drawn here by the Lord Seeker to be killed by Denham.” Her grip tightened on the paper. “So the Lord Seeker is implicated in this after all.”

 

“How long has he been dead?” Cullen asked.

 

“A few days,” Varric replied as he squatted by the body. “He hasn’t started swelling up all that much yet. Or maybe it’s the armour.”

 

Cullen took the letter from Cassandra and slipped it into his waist pack. “We’ll comb this place properly later,” he said. “We have business with the Lord Seeker.”

 

“Indeed we do,” Cassandra snapped, her voice as hard and cold as steel. “The Lord Seeker must answer for this travesty.”

 

“He’s done a number on the Templars, alright,” Varric said, shaking his head. He stood up and cradled Bianca in his arms. “I wonder if there’ll be any left…”

 

“Do not underestimate the Templars, Varric,” Cullen said. “There must be some who still stand. I’m sure of it. We must save as many as we can.”

 

“You’ll get no argument from me, Curly,” Varric said placatingly.

 

“We are near the main hall,” Barris said. “I thought there’d be… more resistance here.”

 

“Maybe they were all killed,” Solas suggested.

 

Cullen wondered about that. It was too convenient as Barris said. He stepped out of the office, past the smell of death and took a breath of the air outside. It was still cold, still drizzling. Cullen was soaked to the skin despite the leathers, his hair clinging to his forehead and cheeks. His side still hurt as did his knee. Blast this rain.

 

“Lock the door,” he said.

 

“Not possible, you kicked it in, remember?” Varric said mildly.

 

Cullen’s cheeks colored slightly. “I forgot,” he said. “Lets leave it then.” He looked to the left, seeing a staircase rising from the courtyard. “Is that the highest level?”

 

“Yes, this leads to the entrance of the main hall,” Barris replied. “I don’t know what we will find when we’re up there.”

 

“We won’t know till we get there,” Cullen said. His sword in hand, he led the others up the staircase. There was the sound of fighting in dimly audible in the distance, but in the immediate area there was nothing, only the patter of rain on the courtyard and the fitful rolls of thunder from the clouds. He pushed open the door, seeing the highest courtyard beyond, where a staircase led up to the main hall. This was typical of the construction of such castles from the age. There were men probably still fighting in the ramparts and towers. But here, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

 

The voice filled his mind, an unwanted touch in his head, violating and vile, “Herald of Andraste, it is time we get better acquainted...”

 

He snarled. “Who is speaking?” he demanded out loud, slashing his sword in the air.

 

“No one is speaking!” Cassandra snapped, putting a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Can’t you hear it?” he growled. “It’s just like-” He paused. It was just like Ferelden, just like the Circle, just like the voices that crawled into his mind like a defiling touch. He shook his head, chasing the thoughts away. “Argh! Maker!”

 

“You must gather yourself, Cullen. You have a duty!” Cassandra said, her voice hard but her eyes filled with concern.

 

He drew a deep breath. If it was a demon here, if this was like the Circle… he wasn’t the young Templar he was before. He had a duty.

 

Cullen sighed heavily. “It’s been a long day - Forgive me, I- I just-”

 

“You need to get out of this shit hole and get twenty hours of sleep,” Varric said. “Let’s work on that, shall we? We don’t like seeing you like this.”

 

Cullen smiled weakly at Varric. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I… didn’t mean to worry everyone.”

 

“The faster we find the Lord Seeker, the faster we can be free of this place,” Solas said. “I would like to look at your wound as well. I fear it may be worse than we realize, which would account for your bizarre behaviour.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Cullen asked.

 

Solas held his staff with both hands, looking at Cullen with serious eyes. “What does your blood tell you?”

 

Cullen’s eyes widened in horror, his hand moving to his wound. He was shaking as the song flared in his ears. “No…” he whispered. “I thought that song was from the other Templars!”

 

“It is unlikely to affect you in the long term, but it may clash with whatever lyrium is in your blood - if it’s even in your blood. It is not a certainty that the wound may be contaminated, but nevertheless...”

 

“Are you saying he might be infected?” Cassandra asked quietly.

 

“I’m saying that he is not himself,” Solas replied. “As to whether there is red lyrium in the wound, it remains to be seen. But we must move on. The sooner this is settled, the better.”

 

Cullen nodded, lowering his hand from his side. Was he infected? Would he turn red like them? Maker, please no. With everything happening to him… he wanted to beat the Lord Seeker senseless, if he were indeed responsible for this madness.

 

“Can red lyrium affect you just by contact with a wound?” Barris asked.

 

“It drove Knight Commander Meredith mad just by her holding the stuff,” Varric said. “And I don’t think any lyrium should be shot out of your hand, do you?”

 

“Let’s just go,” Cullen snapped. “We don’t have time to stand here discussing whether or not I’m going to drop dead from lyrium poisoning where I stand.” He strode forward and started to climb the steps to the doors of the main hall. The others followed him after a moment of hesitation. He could see the red painted doors looming ahead of him as he climbed in the eerie quiet.

 

There were corpses around him, some badly scarred, others missing parts of themselves. He didn’t linger on their faces. He couldn’t bare recognizing any more. He saw a figure standing before the doors.

 

“Come…” the voice cooed in his mind. “Show me what kind of man you really are…”

 

Cullen snarled and took the steps two at a time. The figure was familiar- “Lord Seeker Lucius!” he snarled. Before his foot could touch the highest step, the Lord Seeker turned with shocking speed. Cullen raised his blade, but a gauntleted hand gripped the blade, the other closing around his neck.

 

Cullen grunted, as he was thrown off balance.

 

“Lord Seeker!” he heard Cassandra cry.

 

But the Lord Seeker pulled Cullen to the doors by the neck with surprising strength. “At last!” Lord Seeker Lucius breathed with glee, in the same voice that had haunted Cullen throughout the keep.

 

Cullen gripped the wrist at his neck as the world flashed with green light. “Maker’s-”

 

++++

 

“-Breath!” Cullen staggered, grass under his feet. He gasped in shock as he looked around him. A hall of green light and dark shadows stretched before him, rising columns tapering into delicate arches, tapestries of the story of Calenhad hanging from the walls. There was whispering here, whispering on the edge of hearing, words on the edge of understanding. He knew this place. He knew this place…

 

He turned, his eyes wide with dread. He saw the stairs then, rising to the Harrowing Chamber and beside it, the place where he was kept prisoner. There, laying in the grass, was the corpse of Ainsley, and all the others who had perished beside him.

 

He cried out in fear, stepping back from the chamber. His shoulders hit a wall. There was no way out behind him.

 

“You have come to me at last,” he heard. Cullen spun and raised his sword immediately to the voice that seemed to echo around him. A person emerged from the Harrowing Chamber, the doors opening ponderously. A face from his past. Knight Commander Greigor. Beside him stood the figure of Irving, watching him, fear in the old man’s eyes.

 

“You are not real,” Cullen breathed, his face beading with sweat.

 

“I am not real?” Greigor asked with a laugh, descending the steps and walking towards Cullen. The man’s voice was different, tinged with a metallic overtone that resonated in Cullen’s body. Where was he? How could this place be real?

 

Greigor stood beside him, Cullen’s sword swill levelled at the… thing.

 

“What shall we do with Irving, Cullen?” Greigor cooed. “It was he who allowed the Libertarians to flourish in the Circle. It was he who allowed Uldred to fight with the Wardens and come to that foolish notion that he could use demons to take over. I would like to know you, Cullen…” He gestured to Irving as he paced around Cullen. “What shall we do?”

 

Cullen backed away from Greigor. “We will do nothing!” he snarled.

 

“We will do nothing!”

 

Cullen spun around to see Irving next to him. Cullen’s heart nearly stop from fright. The old man’s eyes widened and he looked down then, Cullen’s eyes following his gaze. Cullen’s sword was buried in the First Enchanter’s heart.

 

Cullen gasped and pulled away, his sword pulled from Irving’s chest. “That wasn’t me!” Cullen cried, rushing past Irving into the Harrowing Chamber. “That wasn’t me!” the voice echoed in his mind, gloating, gleeful. “Then who are you… tell me…”

 

Cullen’s heart was hammering in his chest. He turned to see the chamber. He knew this place- but instead of the lyrium pedestal in the centre, now there was the War Table from Haven. There was the crackle of fire in the air, bodies clawed from the grass, frozen in throes of agony, their skin stripped from their flesh as they burned. Cullen knew these things… they burned in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He stepped around them, his sword held low, ready for… for what? For anything that may appear. For-

 

A rush of wind made him look up from the corpses he was so carefully weaving his way through. Evelyn and Josephine appeared standing at either end of the table, facing him; watching, but their eyes unseeing. What was this place? The Fade? Had he been pulled into the Fade? The green light cast pools of dark shadows and reflected off Josephine’s silken ruffles and glinted Evelyn’s armour. Evelyn’s eyes still shone blue even here.

 

“Will this shape help me know you, then?” From the shadows came another figure. A tall figure wearing wolf fur at his neck, a staff on his back. The figure stepped into a pool of green light and Cullen’s hand gripped his sword.

 

“Hawke…” Cullen breathed. The one they had been searching so desperately for before the Conclave, the one they hoped who would lead the Inquisition - the Champion of Kirkwall. “This isn’t real - none of this is!”

 

Hawke smirked under that beard of his. “Everything tells me about you.” Hawke drawled, his voice tinged with that metallic sound as Irving and Gerigor’s had been. “Your steps, your cries, your gasps…” He walked up to Evelyn, drawing a gauntleted hand up her arm and to her neck as he stood behind her. With Hawke’s green eyes watching Cullen intently, Hawke drew Evelyn’s head back languidly, exposing her neck, his lips close to her skin. “And so will this… watch, Cullen…”

 

Hawke raised a knife to Evelyn’s neck, resting it against the smooth column.

 

Cullen edged around the table, his sword steady, his heart hammering in his chest. Cullen saw Evelyn turn her eyes to him, catching his, his heart skipping a beat in fear as Hawke, slowly, languidly, drew the blade across her throat. Blood spurt from the wound, staining her lips and armour red. Cullen’s sword began to shake as he grit his teeth in futile silence. Evelyn sank to the War Table in a heap and toppled to the grass. She watched him, twitching as she bled, her eyes locked on his. “You will stop these filthy lies, demon” Cullen snarled, his voice echoing in the chamber.

 

“Stop these filthy lies, demon!” Hawke mimicked him, smiling and fading into the shadows with a laugh.

 

Cullen turned from the sight. Not again! Not more of this! Wasn’t once in his life enough?! He swiped his sword in the air in frustration. He was trapped in a cage - all this was a demon’s cage! Laughter made him look up. Josephine walked up to him, playing with the knife still stained with Evelyn’s blood. She stepped up to him, her perfume washing over him. “Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker…” She drew a finger across the stubble of his chin. He swatted her hand away and stepped back, bumping into a corpse.

 

“Do you know what the Inquisition will become?” Her voice came from behind. He slashed with his sword but she vanished. “You’ll see… When I’m done, the Elder One will kill you and ascend, the I will be you!”

 

“What is this Elder One?” Cullen demanded, his sword at the ready.

 

The shade of Josephine laughed again. “He is between things. Mortal once, but no longer.” She stepped up to him and Cullen stepped back, keeping her at sword’s distance. “Glory is coming. And the Elder One wants you to serve like everyone else: by dying in the right way.”

 

“Bullshit,” Cullen snapped. A demon who wanted to be him? He knew this demon from his studies… Envy. Maker’s breath… He was in the grasp of an Envy demon! It would learn, it would try to mimic him, break him down, the take his form. This was no desire demon’s lair of temptation. This was entirely different.

 

Josephine stepped away and vanished into the shadows, her perfume lingering in the air.

 

“I will know you!” he heard a growl from behind him.

 

He knew the voice immediately. He lowered his sword and turned, his heart sinking to see Evelyn sauntering up to him, the furs she wore glowing orange in the light of the burning corpses. She stepped up to him, her every movement a wound in his heart to see her form being used like this. She tiptoed and whispered in his ear, her breath caressing his skin, “Tell me what you feel...” He stepped away, cursing silently within.

 

Fire flared. Evelyn stood at the War Table, the maps of Thedas burning with licking,  crackling flame. “Tell me what you see…” she smiled, resting her hands in the flames.

 

Before Cullen could register that her hands should be on fire, he gasped as a figure appeared next to him. Himself, standing there as a form in shadow, his eyes ablaze with green flame. Evelyn laughed, a chilling sound that echoed in the chamber. She appeared behind the figure of him, dagger in hand still stained with her blood. She reached around the shadowed figure of him to stab into the figure’s gut. Cullen gasped and doubled over in pain, his own body searing with the cut. She laughed even more and cut the shadowed figure’s belly open. Cullen screamed in pain and sank to his knees in the grass, gasping for air as he watched his own shadowed entrails fall before him.

 

He felt her hand run through his hair, then pull his head back sharply. “You will tell me… everything…” she smirked. With another laugh, she stepped away into the shadows and vanished, taking the illusory pain with her.

 

Cullen grit his teeth and stood up, the last dregs of pain fading as he caught his breath. He sheathed his sword and set his shield on his back. This demon would not kill him when it needed to learn. Her eyes were the only thing blue here… yet he had watched them die, he had watch them gloat as she killed him- No, not him. It wasn’t real. She was not real, not her, nor Josephine nor Hawke, nor Greigor, nor Irving. Only he and the demon were real, and he had to remember that.

 

Words came unbidden to him. Blessed are they who stand before the Maker…

 

He steeled his heart and moved forward beyond the burning War Table, the shadows parting to reveal a door. He stepped through it and the world exploded. Cullen shielded his face as the hot red fire of glowing red lyrium shattered the ceiling of the Chantry beyond. He winced and bore it, the searing heat on his skin. This wasn’t real! Not real! Okay, so why did it hurt? He grunted and stepped behind the door until the flames faded. When the blazing light faded through his eyelids, he peered beyond the door into the Chantry of Kirkwall. On fire. Red Lyrium scarred the walls, brilliant crystalline florets that were almost beautiful. He could smell burning corpses. How deep had Envy delved into his thoughts?

 

“You could have stopped this, you know,” he heard and his fists balled in anger. A figure walked from the flames, a great red lyrium infused sword on her back, her eyes as cold as winter, the red of her hood putting shaming the colour of the flames themselves. “How many times could you have arrested Anders? Yet you did not.”

 

Meredith. He strode past her, avoiding the flames, avoiding the conversation.

 

He gasped when she appeared right in front of him, her face burned, caked with red lyrium, cracking as he saw the fire searing her from within. “You betrayed me, Cullen - you knew about my sister, you knew I called for your promotion. But you let Kirkwall fall to the mages. Tell me why?”

 

“Because you were wrong!” Cullen snarled, backing away. “You were wrong to go so far!”

 

“Wrong to go so far?” Meredith gloated in a shadow of his voice. “Is that the man you are? To appear righteous and noble no matter what the cost?” The burning form of Meredith laughed and faded into the fire.

 

He cursed himself for responding. The more he reacted, the more Envy learned. He ran through the path between the flames, pushing through another door. He blinked and felt he world lurch. When he looked up, he saw a blade by his face and froze. He found himself on his knees, his hands manacled, swords levelled at his head. Haven?

 

“Do you remember what happened?” Leliana’s voice sounded in his ear. He grit his teeth, straining against the manacles. “How this began?”

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen breathed, struggling to free his wrists from the manacles as the shade of Leliana paced slowly around him.

 

“Our one chance to make peace between the mages and the Templars and now it’s over…”

 

Cullen said nothing, tugging at the manacles.

 

“Your mark caused the explosion.”

 

He staggered to his feet, the manacles strangely heavy. He grunted, bent under the weight.

 

“You killed the Divine.”

 

“I don’t remember!” Cullen shouted. “Leave me, demon!”

 

Leliana laughed as she stepped away from him. “Denial… fear… is that what drives you?” she whispered, her voice echoing.

 

The manacles exploded around his wrists. He cried out, startled, his wrists searing with pain. He saw the soldiers around him vanish and he was alone in the dungeons of Haven. He snarled, rubbing his wrists and pushing on. Everything he said was fuel to Envy. Enough of this - he had to escape, somehow.

 

He saw another door ahead and hesitated, almost dreading going through. Memories unbidden rose in his mind, like bubbles in the lake, wavering in shape and vanishing into ripples of emotion when they came to the surface. Smiles and laughter, the sound of bird song, yelling as chess pieces flew across the room, a coin falling in his palm.

 

Blessed are the righteous, the light in the shadow…

 

He drew a deep breath and pushed the door open to another vision. He saw himself, sitting on a throne flanked with glowing spires of red lyrium. He stared, dull horror filling him, spreading like poison in a cup of wine. It was him - the same fur shawl over a white sunburst tunic, a Templar shield leaning against his throne. His leg was cocked and resting on what looked like part of a dragon’s skull while his hand idly spun a drawn sword resting on its tip. His eye burned with green flame, the mitre of Divine on his head. Cullen gaped. What travesty was this?

 

A soldier stood beside his throne. “The Orlesians have agreed to our terms, Herald,” the soldier reported. “The Inquisition’s power rivals any nation’s in Thedas.”

 

“So our reach begins to match my ambition,” Cullen heard the shadowed figure on the throne say in his voice. He grit his teeth. This was not him!

 

“Were you in earnest when you chose the people’s flag for the Standards?” asked Envy in his head. Cullen swore. “For when I am you, the people will never forget what you do them.”

 

“Die in the void, demon!” Cullen yelled.

 

Two figures emerged from the shadows dragging a third between their arms and threw her at the shadowed Cullen’s feet. “What is the meaning of this?” he heard the sprawled figure say.

 

“You are charged with heresy, Mother Giselle,” the shadowed form of him sneered. “For your infernal whispers against your new Black Divine.”

 

“You are no divine!” Mother Giselle spat. “How can you do this? The Inquisition was a force of peace!”

 

“And under my fist, peace has come to Thedas,” drawled the figure. It was his voice. Cullen couldn’t believe that it was his voice… The figure spread his hands to the walls where hanging… things lingered in the shadows. “Don’t you see the peace I’ve brought?”

 

“This is tyranny, not peace!”

 

“You are stripped of your position, Mother Giselle. Disrobe her and give her to the mercenaries. If she can stand in the morning, hang her in the Gallows. There’s still space along the walls for… warnings.”

 

“I will never be this!” Cullen shouted, his sword, which he didn’t even know he had drawn, slashing into the figures that moved to grab Mother Giselle. The figures burst into flame and vanished, along with the abomination that was the Black Divine, fire catching on the ethereal grass. “I will never be this!” Cullen growled.

 

“Why not?” Envy purred as the flames spread, searing and green. “You don’t know how great you can be, with the Inquisition at your back. All of Thedas will bow to your your will of iron.”

 

“Stop your damned lies, demon!” Cullen shouted over the crackling of the fire. The whole area looked like it was ablaze, walls of flame blocking him every which way. He felt a rising fear in him. It wasn’t real… but the fire was hot. He backed away from the flames.

 

“When I am you, there will be nowhere in Thedas my arm cannot reach. All will bow… mages, templars, nobles and kings… all will bow.”

 

“Never!”

 

“Do you not see how glorious my Inquisition will become when you die at the hands of the Elder One?”

 

“I will find you!” Cullen shouted, the rage bubbling over. “I will kill you!”

 

“Thirst for blood, vengeance, rage against the dark… how interesting.”

 

Cullen shouted in frustration and slashed at the grass  that covered the ground by his feet. He gripped the hilt of his sword, pressing the balls of his hands to his forehead. What was he doing? Why was he giving in, giving the demon what it wanted?

 

Not again. Not again… Caged, and tortured, a symphony of pain and loathing with the demon’s caress on his skin… Now it sought his mind.

 

Why him?

 

Why did it have to be him?

 

“Maker, turn your gaze upon me,” he whimpered, trying to calm his heart from its wild heated drumming in his chest. He felt the heat on his skin, beaded with sweat. He blinked his eyes. He realized he was tearing. “Stretch out your hand. Guide me from this place…”

 

“Prayers in the dark,” Envy chuckled in his mind. Cullen grit his teeth, shaking his head almost as if trying to get the voice out; even his prayers were defiled.

 

“You’re hurting, helpless, hasty,” a voice sounded in his mind, a voice quiet and kind. Cullen gasped. “What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?”

 

“What are you?” he heard Envy snarl. “Get out! This is my place!”

 

What was going on? Cullen looked around and saw a path through the fire. He shielded his eyes with his arm and made his way forward, avoiding the roaring flames whose light danced along the blade of his sword. There were two doors at the end of the room, one blocked completely by fire. He moved to the other, fleeing the voices as much as the fire, and barged in. He slammed the door shut behind him and pressed his shoulder to it.

 

He looked at the room within - a bedroom of madness. There were four floors, each with furniture, each looking… real. Along one floor that rose up against a wall, fire burned downwards in an upside down fireplace, a child’s toy on the mantle. There was a bed against the end of the room, on the ‘true’ floor that he stood on.

 

The room was a dead end. He’d have to head back out there, face Envy as it peeled him back layer by layer. He grit his teeth as he faced the door, his balled fist slamming into it. His forehead touched the wood, feeling hot from the fire outside, his own tears hot in his eyes. Maker… If he had to… His hand touched the handle.

 

“Wait.”

 

Cullen froze and looked into the room, devoid of anyone but him. It was the second voice who spoke to him. It… didn’t sound like Envy. His sword was drawn, he held it before him, his back to the wood of the door.

 

“Envy is hurting you,” the voice said, a gentle soothing balm to his panic. Cullen felt his breathing slow. “Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but cannot fake. I want to help - you, not Envy.”

 

“Who are you?” Cullen demanded.

 

“I’m Cole,” he heard. “I’m still Cole. We’re here inside you. Or… I am. You’re always inside you.”

 

“What?” Cullen barked.

 

He looked up and gaped. A young man stood on the ceiling… floor, his wide-brimmed hat, common to farmers, hid his face, his leathers dirty and stained. “It’s easy to hear,” Cole said. “But harder to be part of what you’re hearing. I’m here, hearing, helping. I hope.” Cullen did not lower his sword, his eyes glittering like steel despite the tears. “Envy hurt you - is hurting you. I tried to help… then I was here, in the hearing. It’s - it’s not usually like this…”

 

“What are you on about?” Cullen snapped, his sword still held before him. “Are you anot-” A hiss from beyond the door made him spin around, backing away from the door, his sword poised for the door to burst open, but it didn’t.

 

“A tiny thing, safe and secure, a memory of home,” Cole murmured. “A part of you kept safe like the coin in your pocket. Marked but not broken, touched but not swayed… they could not take you then.”

 

“It’s for luck,” the memory came to him, sharp and sudden, as clear as day. Branson looking at his feet awkwardly as Cullen and he sat on the dock on the lake. Branson held out a coin. “Only stupid people like you go off to join the Templars with swords and stuff. So just take it.”

 

Branson had shoved the coin in Cullen’s hand. Cullen remembered his chuckle, the feeling of warmth as he realised his brother’s intention, despite Branson’s sullen demeanor. “I’ll keep it with me,” Cullen promised.

 

“You’d better,” Branson said, sounding almost petulant. “And don’t die!”

 

“I won’t, Bran,” Cullen had promised and hugged his younger brother as they sat by the lake that glittered under the light of the setting sun, more radiant than the strewn jewels of kings.

 

Cullen’s eyes widened. He lowered his sword and turned to look at Cole, now seated on the headboard of the bed. “How do you…” he breathed.

 

“You still have it, that part of you - tranquil, quiet, calm… like the water of the lake at sunset. Chants sung in the woods. Envy cannot take that from you.”

 

Cullen stared at the boy, feeling naked down to his soul. Chants in the woods… he used to sing Chants in the woods when he was a boy as he fed the birds… He remembered his young voice echoing, cheerful, slightly out of tune, the Chant of Light sung as the sun warmed him. Birds would follow him from the statue in the village all the way to the woods, scattering bread crumbs he had stolen from Mia’s kitchen. The birds would sing. He used to pretend they sung to the Maker too.

 

He felt his vision cloud with tears and he wiped them from his eyes with the back of his hand. He drew a quivering breath and sheathed his sword. Calm down. He couldn’t… lose himself like this. A part Envy couldn’t take? Quiet memories had saved him before, but never were they as sharp and clear as these. Envy seemed to need to goad him into reacting, showing him horrors at every turn. Yet this boy reached into his spirit to draw out his more precious memories, and leave them unviolated. Like showing him a precious trinket, lost and forgotten, but beautiful now that you see it again for the first time in a long while.

 

“Softer, you’re softer when you think of those things,” Cole seemed to smile under his hat. He looked up at Cullen, eyes large under a mop of tangled blonde hair. “I’m glad I helped.”

 

Cullen had to admit that Cole did help. “Cole,” he said quietly. “What’s going on?”

 

“I was watching. I watch, you see,” Cole said, playing with his fingers as he spoke. “I watched the Templars when you came, every one of them knew when you arrived. They were impressed, but not like the Lord Seeker.”

 

“The Lord Seeker is an Envy demon,” Cullen said, his voice calmer. “It wants to be me.”

 

“Yes. It twisted the commanders, forced their fury, their fight. They’re red inside. But you, you’re frozen. Envy is trying to take your face. I heard it and reached out - then in and then I was here.”

 

“I’m frozen?”

 

“Thoughts are fast. We’re here. Outside, a blade is still falling, hanging in the air like a sunset.”

 

That was a beautiful way to put it, Cullen couldn’t help but note. “So no time is passing. Does that mean I’m safe?”

 

“No. It would be good if you got out.”

 

“Then can I get out the way you got in?”

 

Cole seemed to blink, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Yes, but I think you would die. It’s your head. You shouldn’t be out of it.”

 

Cullen looked around at the twisted room and walls. “All of this is my head?” he asked. Which part of his head screamed for four-floored rooms, he wondered. “And those visions out there - are they me?”

 

“No. They are Envy, Envy’s learning.”

 

“If this is my head, how do I get rid of everyone else?”

 

Cole stood and walked on the bed to stand before Cullen. “All of this is Envy’s work - people, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches. It takes strength to make more.” Cole hopped off the bed. “Being one person is hard. Being many, more and more, and Envy breaks down. You break out.

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “So we tire him into submission, a battle of attrition,” he said, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword.

 

“Maybe,” Cole murmured. “I hope it helps. It’s more than sitting here waiting to lose your face.” Cole walked past him to the door. “This way,” he said and opened the door to the blaze beyond. Cullen could feel the heat blast into the room. He winced, but Cole stood seemingly unaffected.

 

“Ideas are loud here,” Cole said softly. “Make yours louder. Think of water.”

 

Cullen frowned as he pushed himself forward to step up to the fire. He could feel the heat through his leathers and armour. “Water…” he whispered. He shut his eyes. Rain. He remembered rain - his mother had thrashed him playing in the rain, but it was so much fun the way it fell in puddles around that weird statue. He called to mind the rain. The memory was strangely crisp, even the smell of it, the sound of it.

 

He opened his eyes, realizing that he wasn’t imagining the smell or the sound. Beyond the door, rain was falling onto the searing grass, dousing the fires. The flames flickered, licking at the water, dying in hissing pools.

 

“That will not help you!” Envy growled. “I will see more!”

 

“That worked-” Cullen exclaimed and looked at Cole, but the boy was no longer there. He spun around, looking at the empty room behind him. So this was his head? His ideas would be louder, he would prevail - safe like a coin in his pocket.

 

He stepped out, heading to the door that was blocked by flames. He would prevail. The Maker had heard him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure you've noticed the differences between this dream and the dream in the game, which was nearly entirely Inquisition-focused. Seeing as Cullen has a deeper history, I thought that Envy would be a fool not to bring in his past. 
> 
> Comments? Feedback? Thoughts? Hate this so bad you want to stab your screen with a Slim Jim? Let me know! I can take it.


	10. The Fall of Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demon is finally killed, but Cullen may wind up losing himself instead.

“Betrayed allies will curse your name!” Cullen heard as he barged through another door, the infernal whispering on the edge of hearing in Envy’s nightmare. He knew now that this was his head, it was his place. Envy was the intruder here, trying to break him down, peel him back layer by layer to learn, to mimic, to become him. He wouldn’t let it. He’d prevailed against demons in the past at great cost. He would not give in now. And besides, the Maker had answered his prayers. Cullen was not alone in his head. He hoped the price for Cole’s help wouldn’t be too high.

 

He blinked and the room before him faded into view, himself on a table, impaled with a sword as Roderick flailed his arms in violent objection as Cassandra stood impassively over him, her arms folded, her eyes dark. “Like the first Inquisitor, you will bring blood and ruin and fear!” Envy snarled in his head.

 

“Unless you don’t,” came a second voice, soothing and calm. “You don’t have to. None of this is real unless you let it be.”

 

“Get out, thing! I am learning!”

 

Cullen allowed himself a slight smirk before he ran past the table, not looking at his dead self. He wasn’t alone. He saw another door open before him. He was in some manner of dungeon now he had never seen before. Envy was no longer recreating memories from his head, nor conjuring new and horrifying nightmares. He pushed open another door and saw two rows of cells. Shades of soldiers milled about, looking at each other, talking quietly. “There was no stopping out army,” said one. “An army of demons under the command of the Herald of Andraste…”

 

Cullen grit his teeth as he ran by the group.

 

“Obstinate determination?” Envy chuckled in his mind. “Such a useful trait…” Never in a million years! Where did Envy get the idea of a demon army, however? It wasn’t from Cullen, that’s for certain. He had seen how badly a demon army could go awry under Uldred. He slowed by a cell, Josephine imprisoned, her eyes sunken and her face pale, her robes tattered. “Three days without food or water… What does he want me to confess to?” she wept, slumped in her cell.

 

He ran past the cell. No, this wasn’t real and he knew this now for certain, he would never- His footsteps slowed as he came past a cell. Within was mass of red lyrium, growing from a naked form barely propped up against the wall. Cassandra looked out at him with dead, dark eyes, her body aglow with red. Cullen’s grip on his sword tightened. “Is she ready for harvest?” asked a guard, looking in Cassandra’s cell.

 

“Nearly,” replied his companion. “Let’s hope she struggles again this time.”

 

Cullen resisted the urge to cut them down and turned away from Cassandra. None of this was real! He had to remember, he couldn’t let it affect him.

 

A rattle of chains in the cells behind him made him turn. “Is it my turn to be branded a traitor for questioning what he’s become?” asked a voice from the cell, speaking to the shade of a guard outside. With morbid curiosity, Cullen couldn’t help but walk over to peer within. He gasped at the sight. King Alistair raised his battered head, his manacles binding him to a ring in the floor. Alistair seemed to look right at Cullen. There was an indescribable sorrow in the King’s eyes. “He’s already killed Warden Commander Amell and sacked Orlais… what more does he want that I can give?”

 

Cullen backed away. Stupid! Why did he look? What possibly possessed him to look? He turned away and ran down the hall of cells. Kill Solona? Sacking Orlais? He would never… ever… But what’s the point in sacking Orlais?

 

“You know you cannot flee this future,” Envy purred. “When I am you, the Inquisition will be a force that will bring Thedas to heel for the glory of the Elder One!”

 

“Your Elder One can suck on a nug’s arse!” Cullen snapped, to which Envy only laughed. The feel of his brother’s arms around him, the warmth of the summer eve, the sunset dancing on the lake like jewels He wrapped himself in the memory and continued on, leaving the vision of Cassandra and Alistair behind. Red lyrium and demons… And Solona - Maker’s breath, what was Envy trying to get at? Was there a connection to these visions?

 

“You are letting the Herald see more to sketch his shapes,” Cole said quietly. “But what he sees makes him stronger.”

 

“Quiet!” Envy barked.

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps there was a connection. He saw Cole at the end of the hallway. The young man appeared when he least expected it…

 

Cole gestured to a brazier on the wall, seeming to know Cullen’s pain. “It’s dark, but it isn’t real,” said the boy as Cullen reached him. “Think of sparks.”

 

Sparks? The first thing that came to his head was the mark. He gasped, startled when the mark flared on his hand. It worked? Even here? He stared at the spitting sparks. “How did I do that?” he muttered, but Cole had vanished. He stared at the brazier, then at the sparks on his hand. He frowned uncertainly and stretched out his hand to the brazier. Sparks leapt from the mark, fire in the brazier flaring to life. The wall behind the brazier exploded. Cullen lowered his arms. “Maker’s breath!” he exclaimed. There was a stairway beyond the wall.

 

Cole had vanished. “Keep going up,” he heard Cole’s voice in his mind. “You’re more you there than you are Envy. That tires it out.”

 

Cullen took to the stairs two at a time. There was another door ahead which he pushed through. A shade rose before him and Cullen cut it down, his body moving even as his mind couldn’t catch up with the shock. He blinked when the shade fell to the ground. Cullen stepped over it and found himself in a courtyard. He frowned and looked around at the battlements. He recognized this place! “I’m in Therinfal?” he murmured. He’d started his visions at the Circle of Magi on Lake Calenhad, but now he was in Therinfal where he knew Envy to physically be, posing as the Lord Seeker. Could Envy be growing weary?

 

“Getting tired, demon?” Cullen goaded. “Want to take a rest?”

 

Envy snarled in his head. “You wish to be difficult? Then see the legacy of the Inquisition! It’s followers hosts to demons, summoned at your command, your world turned to ash! Show me what you’d do with them!”

 

Cullen saw a stairway and ran up it. Demons he would summon? How? He was no mage! Why was Envy talking about this anyway? “Almost there,” Cole murmured. “Keep going up.” Cullen’s feet took the stairs two at a time, his face determined.

 

“What then?” he asked, coming to a gate. He ran to the switch and pulled it, the chains of the gate clanking as the counterweight raised the gate.

 

“You’re making it hard for Envy to think,” Cole replied. “It’ll probably come out soon.”

 

“Good,” Cullen growled, running through the open gate. A shade lunged at him. Cullen didn’t stop to think, his blade cutting the shade in half fiercely.

 

“It’s angry but that’s okay,” Cole said to him. “So are you.”

 

“Even better.” Cullen was angry, a dull rage that burned within him like a fuse to something greater. Green fire licked at his feet, threatening to burn him where he stood, but he kept running, running, ever upwards. He realized he was retracing his steps to the main hall through the keep as he had done in the waking world. Another shade lunged at him, then a shadow of an Orlesian soldier. He parried the strike from the shade and slashed it across the face. The Orlesian soldier cried as he charged with his blade ready to strike, “For the Empress!” But his cry ended in a gurgle when Cullen dodged the blow and sank his sword into the soldier’s kidney, the soldier frozen in mid strike. He pulled out the blade savagely and the soldier vanished into green fire. Cullen ran on. No more games. He would kill Envy this day.

 

“Keep going,” Cole encouraged him gently. “Almost there.”

 

Cullen took another flight of steps up and turned the corner, seeing the red doors of the main hall above him. One last flight. Sword in hand, he climbed the steps, his eyes searching the area for signs of the demons. He did feel like himself up here. His head was less clouded, less full of doubt, less naked.

 

Bodies of the dead were sprawled everywhere, templars fallen with Orlesian soldiers. What madness did Envy plan? His foot touched the top of the stairs, his sword at the ready. The whispers were still in his ear, growing louder the more he neared the door. He reached out to the handle. Then he felt it, animosity. He turned, blade slashing, but a hand grasped the blade and wrenched it away as another closed on his throat. Cullen’s sword skittered across the ground as his feet ceased to touch the flagstones. He struggled to breathe, grasping at the hand holding him up by the neck.

 

Blazing eyes stared at him, his shadowed form snarling, pinning Cullen to the door by the throat. “Unfair!” he heard his own voice say, tainted with a metallic ring. “Unfair! That thing kept you from giving me your shape! And I was so close, you were so close to broken!”

 

Cullen said nothing, choking, white spots flashing in his eyes. Envy raised its free hand, burning with green flame - flame so hot Cullen could feel it radiating through his leathers. Envy seemed to look calculatingly at the flame, then reached up to press the fire to Cullen’s face. Cullen’s hand caught Envy’s wrist, fighting to hold the hand away as Envy pushed his arm forward. “Once more,” Envy growled. Cullen was losing, the fire inches from his face. “We’ll start again - more pain this time- The Elder One still comes!” Cullen shut his eyes against the glare of fire, his face drenched with sweat.

 

“It’s frightened of you,” Cole said, standing at the top of the stairs.

 

Envy spun around “Get-”

 

Cullen balled his fists together and slammed them down against Envy’s elbow. Envy broke his grip on Cullen’s neck. Cullen’s feet touched the floor and he grabbed Envy’s breastplate, slamming his forehead into the demon’s. Pain flared across his skull and he shut his eyes as the world blazed with white light, the whispering stripped from his ears to be replaced with a high pitched ringing and the sound of distant fighting.

 

He opened his eyes to the sight of the red doors of the keep blasting inward, a spindly figure landing among the debris. Cullen held his forehead, the pain still blazing across his skull.

 

“Cullen!” Cassandra cried, aghast.

 

“You just headbutt the Lord Seeker!” Varric exclaimed behind him. “That’s going in the book, Curly!”

 

“Nobody wins with a headbutt,” Cullen grimaced, holding his forehead and waiting for the flashing in his eyes to go away.

 

“Maker’s breath!” Barris exclaimed. The figure was rising from the splintered door. Tall and spindly, covered in pale sallow skin and screaming from a gaping mouth from a face that was nothing more than a folded mass of skin. It twisted back on itself, four arms rearing and blasted into smoke, shooting into the hall over the heads of the Templars gathered there. Barriers sprung up at the back of the hall where staircases led to the altar area beyond. “The Lord Seeker!” Barris cried.

 

“No, an impostor,” Cullen grunted, his head splitting and the pain in his side and knee flaring now that he was present in his own body once more. Maker. He needed a good long nap and some healing.

 

“What?” Cassandra exclaimed.

 

“It’s an Envy demon, Cassandra,” Cullen said, his eyes dark. “Apparently, I caught its fancy.”

 

“Then the Lord Seeker…” she breathed.

 

“Is either dead or caged,” Barris sighed. “Maker preserve us… It used the red lyrium to corrupt the Order, didn’t it? I knew that stuff was risky. The commanders used the red stuff first to prove it was safe, the knights were to be next. That demon turned our leaders so we couldn’t question when this started!”

 

“There is no point standing here blaming ourse- yourselves,” Cullen snapped. “Envy studies, makes less mistakes, but above all, it will hide. We need to get through that barrier to kill it.”

 

“We need our veterans,” Barris nodded, his eyes hardening and steel coming to his voice. “Our Commanders have turned but the Lieutenants may still be fighting.”

 

“Where?”

 

“We’ve passed none on the way up here. The battlements then.”

 

Cullen turned to Cassandra. “Seeker, take two Templars to the east battlements and bring back as many lieutenants as you can. Solas will go with you. Varric and I will take two Templars and scour the west battlements. Barris will stay here with the rest to hold the hall.”

 

“Bring back the lieutenants and the uncorrupted lyrium stores, and we’ll give you Envy, Herald,” Barris added. “Show those things no mercy.”

 

Cassandra nodded and called for two Templars to accompany her and Solas. Varric walked with Cullen as they headed to the west door. “What did you mean when you said you caught its fancy?” Varric asked curiously.

 

“I mean it tried to take me,” Cullen said. “I was trapped.”

 

Varric sighed heavily, shifting his grip on Bianca. “I’m sorry to hear that, you alright, Curly?”

 

“I am,” Cullen gestured for two templars to join him. “Let’s focus on this. We can deal with everything else later.” Cullen paused. “Did you happen to see a young man with me?”

 

Varric stared at him. “I’m getting more worried about you by the minute, Curly…”

 

Cullen sighed. Cole wasn’t still in his head, was he? He would have to deal with this later. They pushed open the door and emerged at the upper barracks. They could hear the sound of fighting ahead. Cullen readied his sword and charged out into the open, his knee twinging with every step. In an open courtyard, in the now sleeting rain, Cullen saw a Lieutenant battling with… red templars. These were even more deformed, their backs hunched with red crystals growing out of them. Arrows whizzed by Cullen’s head as Varric opened fire. He grit his teeth and charged. The first red templar had his back to Cullen. Cullen’s sword found its vitals quickly, striking him down. The lieutenant looked up at him. “You!” exclaimed the woman.

 

“Not now, Ser Laurent!” Cullen snapped. She brought her greatsword down on another charging red templar, splitting it from head to waist. Cullen saw another felled by an arrow, the other two templars taking down an archer in the distance. The melee was short and brutal and Cullen’s sword dripped with blood by the end of it. He was breathing hard as the last red templar fell.

 

“It is unexpected to see you,” Laurent said as she slung her sword across her back, her voice lilting with an Orlesian accent. “Herald of Andraste now, is it?”

 

“So they say,” Cullen panted. “Head to the main hall, Barris will explain what’s going on.”

 

“Right,” Laurent said. “Maker watch over you, Herald.”

 

“Maker watch over us all,” Cullen murmured as Laurent took off.

 

Varric and the other two templars joined him, their weapons bloodied. Cullen led the way to another door adjoining the courtyard. There was no more sounds of fighting from this side of the castle. He tried the door, it was locked.

 

“Er, allow me,” Varric smiled at him and stepped forward to kneel before the lock, his delicate picks already in his hands.

 

“I wasn’t actually going to kick it in,” Cullen muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“I know, I know, I’m just being the helpful dwarf that I am,” Varric said, the locks clicking open.

 

Cullen smiled faintly as the door swung open. “You are helpful Varr-”

 

Cullen’s words died in his throat as he stared into the room. “Guard the door,” he ordered the two Templars and stepped into the chamber beyond. It was a chamber of madness. The eye of the Inquisition was painted on the walls with blood, dark streaks lining the grooves of the flagstones on the floor. Set in the middle of the room, almost like an abominable altar, was the bust of Celene, surrounded by lit candles and strange Avvarian statues. Pinned to the bust’s head with a knife, was a note.

 

Cullen frowned, approaching the altar in the almost unnatural silence. “Maker…” he breathed. “What-”

 

“The Elder One wants her dead,” Cullen heard. He blinked and Cole was there, standing behind the bust, his head bowed, his face blocked by the huge hat he wore. “Empress Celene… he hates her, haunts her, wants her dead, but hides why. He hid other things, too.”

 

“What other things?” Cullen asked.

 

“Who are you-” Varric began, but Cullen gestured to him to wait. But when Cullen turned back to Cole, he was gone.

 

“Blast!” Cullen snapped.

 

“Who was that?” Varric asked.

 

Cullen paused. “A spirit, I think. It helped me when I was trapped by Envy.”

 

“You trust it?”

 

Cullen paused. “I don’t know yet. It hasn’t done anything to make me not trust it.”

 

Varric sighed heavily. “Well, we know they’re plotting against the Empress. These guys don’t think small, do they?”

 

“I wonder why this Elder One wants her dead,” Cullen muttered, turning from the table and heading back outside. “Come on, we need to see if there are more lieutenants or any of the lyrium stores here.”

 

“We know where the stores are, Herald,” said a templar.

 

“Lead the way, Ser Knight,” Cullen said. They followed the knight around the corner to another door. There, with Varric’s nimble fingers, they gained entry to another door. Red glow spilled out from within along with the song that filled the air. Cullen stepped into see spires of red lyrium, humming their discordant song. He felt the emptiness in his blood, remembered the taste of lyrium that went down his throat. He gripped his sword and pushed the thought from his aching head. This was not the time.

 

He walked up to the red spires and knelt down beside them. True enough, he found what he was looking for - a corpse, almost entirely overtaken by red. “So they do use people,” he murmured. Just as he had seen in his head where red lyrium was growing out of Cassandra. The vision of the soldier in his head also screamed ‘for Empress Celene’ and he had found evidence of Celene as a target of the Elder One. That meant whatever Envy had shown him was a sign of things to come. Including the demons? Was that why Envy asked him what he would do? Was all this to come? Attacking Orlais, killing Celene, raising an army of demons? What was the Elder One and how could he do all this? Maker’s breath, as if the damn Breach wasn’t enough now there was this Elder One to contend with as well?!

 

“Curly? Cullen?” Varric’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

 

“What?” Cullen snapped, looking over his shoulder.

 

“You’re swearing.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re kneeling there swearing at the red lyrium.” Varric pointed out mildly. “I didn’t know you knew so many words. Look, I know the red stuff’s bad but-”

 

“Look closer, Varric,” Cullen said, stepping away from the red. He’d been swearing and he hadn’t even realized. He went to the two templars. “Get the untainted lyrium and let’s head back to hand it over to Barris.”

 

The templars saluted and climbed the stairs behind the red lyrium.

 

“Andraste’s ass,” Varric was sighing as he stood up. “That’s a person down there. Just when you think the stuff can’t get any worse.”

 

“Apparently, it can,” Cullen said, hearing the templars moving crates in the upper level of the store room. “This is beyond containment now. Not by the Inquisition as we are now, at any rate, but this isn’t the time. We have to a demon to kill.”

 

++++

 

The song of lyrium was loud - louder than Cullen remembered. The Templars in the hall banged their shields with their swords, riling up for battle, the philters of lyrium passed from one to the next. Cullen’s hands were shaking as he avoided watching the templars dose themselves heavily. His throat was dry and his head was splitting. Maker, he wished they would get this over with. He saw Cassandra watching him. He steeled himself. He couldn’t show weakness. She believed in him, right? Or something like it. Besides, didn’t he decide he wanted nothing more to do with that life? To leave all of it behind... His eyes hardened and he turned to look back at the ceremony.

 

“What are they doing?” Varric asked quietly.

 

“They are bringing down the barriers,” Solas explained, holding his staff idly. “The barriers, like the Breach, are formed by disruptions in the veil, vibrations out of tune with the rest of it. They are using the lyrium in their own blood to counter these vibrations, to still them by emitting an equal but opposite frequency.”

 

Varric stared at Solas. “So… vibrations? Does that mean that they can bring down the barriers? That’s all that matters,” he said.

 

“It’s more to it,” Solas said with a slight sigh. “Think of this as a test. If they can bring down these barriers with their methods, they may also be able to suppress the Breach sufficiently for you to seal it.”

 

“That I understood more of,” Varric admitted.

 

“We were taught to listen to the song in our blood,” Cullen said. “Listen and sing the same. That magic spells have distinctive... tunes. We need to listen to sing the same tunes as the spell with the lyrium in our blood. Matching it would disrupt the spell. What Solas said is correct, though even we Templars rarely use such technical terms.”

 

“Why not?” Varric asked.

 

“I suspect because not many of us would understand it,” Cullen smiled faintly. The Templars drove the tips of their swords into the ground. Cullen could hear the song their lyrium sang. Maker - it was driving him crazy, but he would endure this as he had done everything else.

 

The vibrations rocked him from within like a second heartbeat. He felt something discordant in him, a higher ring, fighting the tune of the Templar’s technique. It burned in his blood. He winced. What was this? Was Solas correct? Had he been infected?

 

The song was rising to a crescendo now, the barriers wavering. Cullen held a pile of building stone for support as his blood burned in him. He winced, gritting his teeth and bearing the pain, his knuckles white under his gloves.

 

Then the barriers burst and the song ceased suddenly, leaving a gaping emptiness in him and a longing that was almost overpowering. He longed for the song. Cullen straightened and drew his sword, eager to hit things. Now Envy awaited him. The templars sank to their knees, even more affected by the end of the song, the lyrium in their blood must be depleted. Cullen knew how that felt.

 

“The beast!” Barris growled, his face pale. “End it!”

 

Cullen strode past them. “Recover - join us when you’re ready,” Cullen barked, his sword and shield in hand. They climbed the stairs, their weapons drawn. Cullen knew that this led to a shrine of offering, the highest and most holy part of the keeps of old; few keeps had such places now that the worship of Andraste had changed over the ages.

 

Taunting laughter rang in his ears. Cullen snarled as they stepped out into the rain. The shrine was aglow with red lyrium spires. Once, this was part of a Chantry, a great hall with rising columns and a high ceiling. Some time in the past, it was utterly destroyed, leaving a courtyard with crabby grass and littered with stone debris and forlorn stumps of vine-covered columns.

 

Cullen’s feet trod in the soaking grass, the rain fitfully falling around them as the sky above roiled with the storm and the Breach in the distance. “I touched so much of you! But you are selfish with your glory…” Envy growled in his mind. “Now I’m no one!”

 

“You always were,” Cullen said out loud. His companions looked at him.

 

“It’s here?” Cassandra asked.

 

“It’s talking to me,” Cullen said, his sword still, his steps slow, ready to strike.

 

“Stand ready,” Cassandra said to Varric and Solas.

 

“It will use the Fade to move around,” Solas warned. “It could appear-”

 

The ground in front of Cullen blazed with green flame. Cullen stepped back, his sword poised as Envy crawled from the fire itself, its legs twisting as it rose, four arms clawing at the air.

 

“Dark and desperate, death to make yourself alive. I used to be like you,” Cullen heard a welcomed voice by his side.

 

Cole strode up to Envy, but none of the others seemed to see the boy. “I’m not anymore,” Cole said. “You shouldn’t be either.”

 

Envy snarled and smashed the ground Cole stood on but the boy was gone. Cullen charged for the attack, slicing Envy across the thigh, but another arm caught his shield, pushing him back. Varric was already running to find high ground as Solas raised a barrier over them all. Cullen saw Cassandra weave in to cut at Envy’s knees, but the demon struck down at her, sending shards of stones flying in the air. Cassandra dodged as Cullen flanked the demon, his sword flashing as he stabbed into Envy’s side. Above, Envy snarled as bolts were buried in its shoulder. It swung its arms wildly and clawed at Cullen, leaving a deep rent in his shield as he blocked the strike. Cullen’s arm shuddered from the impact. The demon seemed to focus on him, so Cullen stepped back and ran. The demon bent, loping on two of its longer arms and running after him.

 

Cullen had to get it into the open - hopefully Solas could use his magic- A strike smashed the ancient flagstones beside him. Cullen barely dodged, his knee flaring with pain as he moved. A second strike sent him rolling across the stones. He gasped as he came to a stop, lights flashing in his eyes from where his head hit the stones. He rolled to the side as Envy’s claws rent the ground beside him. Acting on instinct, he rolled back, the second strike hitting the stones where he just lay. A bolt hit Envy in what might have been its eye. The demon screamed as its body crackled with a shroud of ice. Cullen saw Cassandra appear over the demon’s shoulder, running up its back to stab into its neck, trying to hit the jugular vein. Black blood sprayed over Cullen, who drove his sword into the demon’s side. Then Cole was there, his blades flashing as he sliced open the back of the demon’s knees.

 

Envy screamed from the combined assault and swatted Cullen out of the way, pulling Cassandra off its back and throwing her at Varric who stood at the top of a column stump, her body knocking him off and they fell to the ground heavily. Cullen rolled up, seeing Cassandra and Varric stagger to their feet, the green barrier falling from their bodies. He winced as his knee buckled. The demon had vanished. “Be wary!” shouted Solas, raising another barrier.

 

From the altar end of the shrine, Cullen saw the green fire blazing. But instead of the demon, he saw another figure rising, fur pauldrons blowing in the breeze, sword and shield in hand, green flames blazing from its eyes. “I know everything about you, Cullen!” the demon snarled. It was Cullen’s voice.

 

Cullen grit his teeth and charged as Cassandra followed.

 

“This will never be me!” the demon taunted, as it met Cullen’s charge.

 

Their swords clashed, Cullen striking with the edge of his shield as he parried the blow. The demon ducked and countered with a stab that Cullen dodged. He knew this - this was fighting the way he would do it. Cassandra joined the fray. The demon blocked her strike and blasted her back with fire from a false mark on his hand. Cullen slashed at the demon, their swords catching as they stood frozen.

 

“Her eyes are so blue…” The demon sneered near his face. “Maybe when I am you, I will bed her myself!”

 

A blast burst from Cullen’s body without thought, thundering down from the sky, a glowing a mixture of blue and red. Cullen’s wrath of heaven was not what it was with lyrium but it threw Envy off balance. A bolt caught the demon in the leg, making him scream. Cullen gloated inwardly, his sword breaking free. He knocked the demon’s shield away and moved to stab but a blast from the demon sent him flying backward, the barrier catching him as he fell, then shattering.

 

Cullen saw the demon charge him as he quickly got to his feet. He blinked and Cole was there, the Envy demon screaming again as Cole daggers dug deep in the demon’s sides. “You are not a good person,” Cole said with disappointment in his voice, his eyes hard. As the demon writhed, Cullen charged, his sword raised. Cole vanished in the blink of an eye and Cullen’s sword caught Envy on the neck. It was like cutting through a druffalo, so thick was Envy’s form. Envy screamed, Cullen’s sword buried halfway in its neck. Cullen felt the demon still, his own face looking back at him, contorted in pain. The fire in Envy’s eyes began to die as the figure slumped, dragging Cullen down by the blade of his sword. Cullen knelt over Envy as the demon convulsed.

 

Cullen grit his teeth in rage and pressed his shield against the blade of his sword. He pushed the blade down, sawing mercilessly, every grate of blade against bone resonating in him as he cut deeper and deeper, his vision clouded by red. In silence, he worked at the task of cutting off his head… the demon’s head. He would never be this person!

 

He froze then. What was he doing? He stared down at the carcass beneath him, his own shape, his sword deep in its neck. He stood up, leaving the sword behind. What was he doing?

 

He swallowed and turned from the carcass.

 

“Good,” he heard Cole’s voice in his ear. “It balls up, a pearl of pain, twisting, tormenting. Now you can shake it loose.”

 

Cullen let out a shuddering breath. “Thank you, Cole,” he murmured into the rain, but no reply came to him.

 

He turned to the others. Varric was bleeding from the head and Solas was wearied from casting and maintaining the barrier continuously. Cassandra put her hand on his shoulder. “You did it,” she said to Cullen.

 

“We did it, Seeker,” Cullen replied.

 

“You defeated more than a demon here, Cullen.”

 

Cullen sighed. “I know.” His hands were shaking. He looked back at the entrance to the main hall and started to limp towards it. Cassandra took his arm and draped it over her shoulder. He smiled gratefully at her.

 

They saw Templars charging through the door with weapons drawn, but stopping when they caught sight of the four of them returning, the carcass of the demon lying dark on the grass.

 

“The demon is dead,” Barris breathed, lowering his sword. “Andraste be praised - she shielded you from its touch.”

 

“Yes,” Cullen grunted, leaning on Cassandra. His knee was too weak.

 

Barris sighed. “We’ve numbers across Thedas but we let this happen - our officers either failed to see it or were complicit.” He sheathed his sword. “The Templars are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us.”

 

Cullen took his arm off Cassandra, standing on his good leg. He gestured to the Breach behind them. “That’s our enemy. The Breach can’t be overcome with words or hope. If you still stand against ruinous magic, this is the moment for you to join me and stand with the Inquisition - fulfill your pledge!”

 

Barris seemed to stiffen. “You speak truths we should never have ignored. But… our Order is leaderless, gutted. We must rebuild.”

 

Cullen wanted to swear. “Rebuild with us,” he said. “The Templars and the Seekers were formed with the First Inquisition. Now we’ve come full circle. A new Templar Order with the New Inquisition. We cannot betray the people’s trust or respect in us. We offer you an alliance, grounds, weapons, supplies - all of it. All we ask is that you help us close the Breach and put an end to this madness!”

 

Barris turned to the gathered Templars. “Will we stand with the Inquisition, brothers and sisters?”

 

The cheers rose, echoing in the ruins. Barris smiled looked at Cullen. “I hope your stronghold is ready,” he said.

 

“Such as it is,” Cullen replied, shaking the young man’s hand. “You’ve come a long way from when I first trained you, Barris.”

 

“I had a good teacher,” Barris chuckled.

 

+++++

 

Cullen gripped the sheets of his cot as the spirit healer closed the wound in his side. Outside, the rain was still falling. Another reason why Cullen hated the sea, with its constant rain year round. The burn from the healing was almost as bad as the initial injury itself. “Just stop whinging, Herald,” the healer said calmly, a reticent young mage who had joined the Inquisition’s forces.

 

Cullen grunted and bore it. Cassandra and Rylen sat in his tent. Varric’s head wound was already healed by the spirit healer. Cullen was the only one worse for wear now. His knee had been splinted despite the healing. And it would be, at least until they returned to Haven.

 

“We managed to get most of the nobles out,” Rylen was reporting. “Those who were smart enough ran out on their own. Some tried to right the Red Templars, which obviously did not go well for them. Suddenly the Inquisition has lots and lots of friends offering aid.”

 

“That’s a good thing, right?” Cullen grunted. The healer ceased the spell. And Cullen sank back, gasping. “Andraste’s blood!”

 

Cullen sat up as the healer bowed and left. “Did we lose many?” he asked Rylen.

 

“Thirteen,” Rylen sighed. “Could have been more but the Templars were more eager to kill each other than us. Now we’re allied with them I hear.”

 

“Yes,” Cullen said. “Stay and coordinate the mobilization of any Templars left here. Work with Ser Barris. He seems a capable sort. Send any Lieutenants ahead to Haven in a day or two. Give us a head start to get Haven prepared.”

 

Rylen saluted. “Is there anything else?”

 

“No, thank you, Rylen.” Cullen pushed back his damp hair, now completely curled like a halo on his head. He hated the way it fell in his eyes.

 

Once they were alone, Cassandra looked at Cullen. “Do you feel any red in you?” she asked bluntly.

 

Cullen sighed. “No,” he said. “There’s nothing left. Not even the old lyrium.” This was going to hurt, he knew. He couldn’t hear the song any longer, not even the faintest whisper from the dregs of lyrium in his blood. “I think I burned it off.”

 

“I was not expecting you to do that,” she said, a slight smile at her lips. “It’s good to see you still have that in you.”

 

“Not any more.”

 

“You’d be surprised,” she said mysteriously. “Now,about that demon.”

 

Cullen buried his head in his hands. “Cassandra, please, no,” he groaned.

 

“What did it want of you?” she went on relentlessly.

 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he muttered, his fingers curling in his hair.

 

“You know you must.”

 

“No, I do not!”

 

“Stop being stubborn!”

 

“I’m not the stubborn one here, Cass.”

 

“Talk about it, Cullen!”

 

“Why?” he demanded, raising his eyes to her, his glare like steel.

 

“Because you finally have someone who cares.” She was unfazed by his glare. She leaned back in the camp chair, waiting expectantly with her legs crossed. “I am not Greigor who feared you, nor Meredith who used you. I am your friend. You do have people who care about you beyond your role as Herald, you realize.”

 

Cullen felt his heart twist at her words. He lowered his eyes, feeling ashamed. The vision of her in red lyrium flashed in his mind. He tore his thoughts from it. He sighed heavily. “Thank you, Cassandra.”

 

“Don’t thank me, talk to me.”

 

Cullen’s jaw clenched. “It wanted me - it wanted to become me. It showed me… things. Some of these things might be a sign of things to come, some of this Elder One’s plans,” he confided. “Others were… were torments that it used to learn from me.”

 

“Then we have a lot to talk about,” Cassandra said. “I’ll send for some food. We may be up a while.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, an unbeta-ed version till the beta-ed one is done :) Don't want to rush my beta but I'm too excited to wait lol. And so the Envy arc comes to a close. Cullen can look forward to another threat once the Breach is closed... 
> 
> Thoughts, comments? Should Cullen face a relapse from the Red Lyrium that was in his blood?


	11. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen comes face to face with the Elder One at the cost of Haven.

“Officers betraying their soldiers, Templars without leaders, a demon impersonating the Lord Seeker,” Cassandra growled as she, Cullen, Leliana, Josephine and Evelyn gathered at the War Table. “We should have taken them to task! They atrocities they committed-”

 

“Were the crimes of their officers,” Cullen sighed as he rested his hands on the pommel of his sword. He was standing better now, though his knee was still somewhat sore. Regardless, the three days of riding back from Therinfal had allowed him plenty of time to rest his knee. “The soldiers of the Order will serve. If you had such disagreement with me on this, why didn’t you mention it then?”

 

“Then you were recovering. Now you are recovered and I can speak my mind.”

 

Cullen sighed.

 

“These crimes put them at our mercy. Yet the terms of this alliance do not benefit the Inquisition as they should,” Leliana added and sighed in disappointment. “You should have consulted us, Herald.”

 

“What was I supposed to do?” Cullen asked. “Pause the battle to send out a bird? Tell the Templars to take a break while I sat waiting for a reply?”

 

“It will still work,” Evelyn said with a sigh as she tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Cullen was avoiding her gaze, the things Envy showed him about her disturbed him greatly. “Gratitude is just as serviceable a bind as guilt, if I know the Templars half as well as Cullen does. They are indebted to us now, just not officially.”

 

“An alliance with the Templars was our desired outcome. May we discuss their imminent arrival?”

 

“I told Rylen to have the veterans come after us ahead of the main force,” Cullen reported. “We should have time to approach the mages if we-” Cullen sensed the atmosphere in the room change. “Do I need to be told something about the mages?”

 

“They’re gone,” Evelyn said.

 

“What?” Cullen barked, staring down at the map instead.

 

She frowned slightly and seemed to stiffen. “They’re gone. They left Redcliffe a few days ago. Some mages came to join us, led by a young mage named Lysas. There are some tranquil among them as well. They had no idea where the others have gone, save that the Magister just told them to follow him.”

 

Cullen swore, leaning his hands on the table. “So we’ve lost them after all,” he growled. “Redcliffe is empty?”

 

“As of two days ago, yes. We do know that King Alistair is marching on Redcliffe along with Arl Teagan.”

 

He looked at Leliana. “We really don’t know where they went?”

 

“No. They headed west into the mountains and vanished,” Leliana replied.

 

“Blast!” Cullen growled. “Then we’ll just have to face the Breach with the Templars. It was a gamble to get both of them anyway. At least Redcliffe is no longer in the hands of a Magister.”

 

“Do we know how long until the Templars arrive?” Josephine asked.

 

There was the sound of a rush of air and everyone startled back. Cole sat on the table, playing with a map marker. “They’re almost here,” Cole murmured. “Templars don’t like to be late.”

 

Cullen saw Cassandra draw her sword as Evelyn reached for her dagger at her hip. “Wait!” Cullen snapped, catching Cassandra’s wrist.

 

“What do you mean, wait?” Cassandra snapped at him.

 

“I came with you to help.” Cole smiled at Cullen. “I would have told you before but you were busy.”

 

“That’s… fine, Cole,” Cullen said, gesturing for Evelyn to back off as she held her dagger. A greatsword was useless indoors unless she wanted to decapitate everyone, and she knew it. “You just startled everyone - appearing all of a sudden on the War Table.”

 

“But I am not a war. And I was always here. You just didn’t see me. Most people don’t until I let them,” Cole replied, setting down the map marker.

 

“So I’ve noticed,” Cullen murmured.

 

“Call the guards!” Cassandra barked. “This creature is not-”

 

“A moment, please, Cassandra,” Leliana stopped her, her eyes alight with curiosity. “I would like to know why he came.”

 

Cole hopped off the table. “You help people. You made them safe when they would have died. You helped them even after all the hurt,” Cole said, his eyes blocked by the brim of his hat. “I want to do that too. I want to help.”

 

“I know how you’ve helped me, Cole-” Cullen began.

 

“What?” Evelyn and Cassandra exclaimed. Cullen shot them both glances to shut up.

 

“But how can you help us?” Cullen went on.

 

“The hole in the sky is too loud for spirits to think. It’s pulling, pushing out pain. I want to stop it.”

 

“How altruistic of you,” Cassandra muttered sarcastically.

 

“I want to help. I can be hard to see. I can kill things that would hurt people. I won’t get in the way,” Cole said earnestly, his body seeming to shrink under the scrutiny.

 

Cullen felt a pang of compassion for the boy, if he was indeed a boy. Cullen sighed. “Cole saved my life in Therinfal,” he said honestly. “I don’t think I could have defeated Envy without him.”

 

“But what does he want now?” Cassandra growled.

 

“I think he… really is wanting to help.”

 

“I won’t be in the way. Tiny, no trouble, no notice taken unless you want them to,” Cole murmured.

 

“Are you suggesting we give him run of the camp?” Evelyn snapped.

 

“No, but-” Cullen turned to her.

 

“Hold on!” Josephine exclaimed. Cole had vanished.

 

“Where did he go?” Cassandra demanded.

 

“It’s a thing he does,” Cullen sighed, averting his eyes from Evelyn.

 

“Interesting,” Leliana smiled. “We shall see if he could teach it to us. I’ll have some people watch the boy. But let’s not get distracted from the Breach.”

 

Evelyn sighed and sheathed her dagger. “I’ll see that we are ready for the Templar’s arrival. We do have some lyrium in store that could serve for sealing the Breach. Till then… you should rest, Herald. To prepare yourself.”

 

“Of course,” Cullen murmured, not looking at her. He could feel her confusion radiating off her. He moved on quickly. “We all have much to do before the Templars arrive, and I need a new sword. Shall we adjourn this meeting?”

 

“We will speak of this Cole later, Cullen,” Cassandra growled. They all turned to leave. Evelyn did not give him a glance. Cullen sighed as they all left him in the room alone. He needed time alone. To collect himself. He’d barely had a moment since Therinfal. He sighed and walked around the War Table to the small altar of Andraste. They did everything in the Chantry, except pray. He opened the altar to see the statue he had prayed so often to in his times of darkness. Silently, he went to light the candles for the altar. Then, with her face aglow with candlelight, Cullen sank stiffly to one knee to pray.

 

++++

 

Haven was filled with music, the sound of the lute ringing over the laughter and the merriment of its inhabitants as they danced around the fire. The Breach was sealed and Cullen’s mark no longer throbbed. Instead of the perpetual green glow over Haven, Cullen relished the sight of the town shining silver under the moonlight, mountains wearing a mantle of snow, hugged close like soft fur. Around him, snow fell like gentle whispers, resting on his furs and hair. He rubbed the mark on his hand as he stood overlooking Haven outside the Chantry. He was not used to the lack of throbbing from his hand. He’d only had the mark for weeks, but somehow it had become part of him. Strange magic he had initially feared so greatly, now put to use to seal the Breach with the aid of the Templars. He sighed. Was it over? No, he knew it wasn’t. This was only the first hurdle.

 

He heard footsteps behind him, recognizing the sound of armour clinking. “Solas confirms that heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed,” Cassandra said, coming to stand next to him. Cullen turned to look at her. “We’ve reports of lingering rifts and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread.”

 

“Heroism?” Cullen snorted. “It was blind luck, Cassandra, and you know it. This could have fallen to anyone’s shoulders. It was the Inquisition that made it work.”

 

“A strange kind of luck,” Cassandra said softly, her eyes thoughtful. “I’m not sure if we need more or less.But you are right, this was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory. With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus-”

 

Warning bells started to ring out urgently over Haven. Cullen looked up over the walls of Haven. Specks of light began to cross the rise in the valley before them. Cullen squinted and drew his sword.

 

“We must get to the gate!” Cassandra breathed, her own sword drawn. They ran from the Chantry towards the gates of Haven, fleeing people, giving them a wide berth as they ran past, screaming.

 

“Get to the Chantry!” Cullen barked at those who ran by. “The Chantry! Now! Move it!”

 

They bolted down the stairs. Evelyn came running down the path from the trebuchets. “To arms!” she commanded, holding a spyglass. “Only one watchguard reporting. A massive force is approaching, Herald,” she breathed, her breath fogging in the snow as she joined Cullen and Cassandra. “Just a forward contingent now, the bulk of them over the mountain at this point.”

 

Josephine and Leliana ran up to them. “Under what banner?” Josephine gasped.

 

“None,” Evelyn snarled.

 

“None?”

 

Cullen frowned and glanced at Leliana, wondering why they had no warning of this. “Get the people-” Cullen began and heard a blast from beyond the sealed gates of Haven, the flare of fire glowing under the gate. Cullen marched down, Evelyn following him, drawing her massive sword.

 

“If someone could open this, I’d appreciate it!” he heard from beyond. Cullen pushed open the gates. A familiar figure knelt in the snow around a charred circle in the ground. Around him were dead bodies, burnt and smoking in the snow.

 

“Dorian?” Cullen recognized him.

 

“Ah,” Dorian grunted, standing up. “I’m here to warn you - fashionably late, as usual-” Dorian grunted and staggered, Cullen catching him.

 

“Who is this?” Evelyn demanded.

 

“Dorian, Dorian Pavus, a pleasure,” Dorian said, straightening up. “Don’t mind me, mite exhausted.” He steeled himself.

 

“Pavus?” Evelyn exclaimed, sheathing her sword on her back. “Maker’s breath… You’re a long way from Tevinter, cousin.”

 

“Cousin?” Dorian blinked.

 

“Trevelyan.”

 

“Ah, we should perhaps postpone the celebratory drinks,” he said and looked at Cullen. “I came to warn you - to tell you what happened to the mages at Redcliffe and you’re not going to like it.” Cullen’s jaw tightened. “They are under the command of the Venatori, in service of something called the Elder One.” Dorian turned to point at a rise in the valley. “There…”

 

Evelyn drew her spyglass and peered through it. “What is that thing?” she breathed and handed the glass to Cullen. “Is that the Elder One?”

 

Cullen took the glass and looked through it. He set eyes on the Elder One for the first time. It was like no human he had ever seen, if it was human. Red lyrium grew from its face, flaring in an almost beautiful way. His eyes were cold and empty, full of hatred and rage as he looked down on Haven. And beside him were two people. One was a waif-like mage Cullen had never seen before, donned in red robes. The other was a familiar face. “I know that man…” Cullen breathed.

 

“The woman is Calpernia, she commands the Venatori,” Dorian was saying to him. Behind him, Evelyn was rallying the soldiers at the gate. “And the man-”

 

“Is Samson,” Cullen grated. “I thought him dead…”

 

“No, he is red. He has whatever is left of the Red Templars, more than you know. The thing with them… that’s the Elder One. They were already marching on Haven, I risked my life to get her first,” Dorian said.

 

“Soldiers!” Evelyn barked, her voice booming in the snow. “Gather the villagers, fortify in the Chantry and watch for advanced forces. Mages, you have permission to engage. There are templars among them, this will not be easy. Templars, give the mages cover - everyone must get to the safety of the Chantry!” She waved her massive sword, snow flying in its wake. “With the Herald! For your lives! For the Inquisition!”

 

The cheer rang up behind him, almost knocking Cullen off his feet. For the Herald… he would not let them down. The soldiers, mages and templars dispersed. Some running to arm the trebuchet closest to him. Evelyn took the spyglass back from Cullen.

 

“We must control the battle,” Evelyn said, her voice as hard as the moonlight glinting off her sword and armour. “The snows are heavy on the mountain. We can use them. We have these trebuchets you always wanted to fire, now’s your chance, Herald.”

 

Cullen drew his shield as Cassandra joined him at the gate. “Get Varric and Solas here,” he said to her.

 

Evelyn nodded at him. She turned her eyes to Dorian then. “This way, you shouldn’t be out here like that.” She led Dorian away from the gates. The men with torches were coming closer now, Cullen gritted his teeth.

 

“What’s going on?” he heard a yelp behind him as Sera ran out to meet him, her bow on her back and her eyes wild. “I hear Templars and mages? What’s this?” Blackwall followed her.

 

“Sera, get back, it isn’t safe-”

 

“Piss on it!” she snapped. “If templars and mages are attacking us, I’m going to stick them full of arrows - in the arse hole! And piss on you too if you think I should be hidin’, Herald!”

 

“Fine!” Cullen said. “Mages will fire in straight lines - flank them as much as you can. They can’t move while casting, shoot them in the arse hole.”

 

“You got it, Herald!” she grinned.

 

“Warden Blackwall, I need you to assist the Command in defence of the Chantry, you’ll have the boy Cole with you - if you can see him. He’ll help regardless. We’ll cover things out here.”

 

Blackwall nodded. “Don’t die - hit them hard, Herald,” he said and turned to run back into the village, running past Varric and Solas who came to join Cullen.

 

“Varric, take the Templars down - your bolts are deadly in their armour. Watch out for the red lyrium,” Cullen said to the dwarf.

 

“Don’t have to tell me twice, Curly,” Varric sighed. “And I just opened a cask of Hirol’s Lava Burst too, shit.”

 

“Solas, cover us as much as you can. Cassandra and I will bring them to a choke point before the trebuchet, we’ll deal with them there.”

 

“Stop talking! I want to shoot things!” Sera snapped.

 

“Soldiers!” Cullen strode ahead to the troops. “When the trebuchet is loaded, aim towards the mountains!”

 

The armies charged up, until Cullen could see the white of their eyes. He held his new sword ready as the arrows and bolts started to fly. There were templars among the attackers, he realized as he joined the fray, cutting down mage and templar and Tervinter soldier alike. He fought until his arm was shaking, the soldiers around the trebuchet falling to the unrelenting waves of attackers. He breathed hard as the sound of battle rose all around him. “Cover me!” he snapped, sheathing his sword. He ran up the trebuchet, surrounded by dead soldiers.

 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Cassandra asked over her shoulder as she stood with him.

 

“Yes!” Cullen shouted back, turning the trebuchet’s directional control. He grunted with the effort, hearing Cassandra fighting right behind him. “Maker’s breath - hurry up!” he grunted as the trebuchet ponderously turned towards the mountain. He grit his teeth and kicked the firing lock free. With a great roaring trundle, the trebuchet fired, snow flaring from the rock’s path as the huge counterweight swung the arm over. Cullen felt the whole platform shaking and then jerk as the arm was caught but he crossbar. He saw the rock soar in a beautiful arc and smash into the mountainside like the crashing of thunder. An avalanche started, slow at first, then crashing down like the wrath of heaven itself, a mighty white fist that swept away the torches held by the attacking force, blotting out trees and mage and templar in the blink of an eye. Cullen gaped and then grinned. He couldn’t help himself. That felt so amazingly good. He could hear cheers from within the walls and Varric slapped him on the shoulder.

 

“Did we do it?” Sera asked. “Did we win?”

 

“I-” Cullen began and a roar from the heavens made them look up. Cullen stared at an impossibility, dark wings blackening the sky, a scream from the depths of terror and the Void itself - a blaze of fire blasting from the darkness. Cullen grabbed Sera and pushed Varric off the trebuchet just as it exploded under him. The roar rose up to the sky, violent and hungry, wanting more.

 

“Pissing arse piss shit fuck!” Sera whimpered as they staggered to their feet.

 

“Back to Haven,” Cullen commanded, pulling her to her feet. “Now!”

 

They ran, Cassandra picking herself up from the snow.

 

“Move it!” he heard, seeing Evelyn in white armour at the gate. “Now! Move it!” They ran through the gate and she pulled it shut behind them, slamming the crossbar closed as the shadow flew overhead, beating wings that rocked their very hearts.

 

She was breathing hard. “This is impossible,” she snarled. “Get back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold! You too, Herald! I’ll sweep the area for any survivors.”

 

“We’ll come with you,” Cullen said.

 

Evelyn seemed ready to explode at him but bit her tongue. “Fine,” she growled. “You take the west way up past the houses. I’ll sweep east.”

 

“Sera, Solas, follow her,” Cullen barked. They nodded and ran off after Evelyn, her massive sword drawn. Cullen, Cassandra and Varric swept Haven from the west, scouring the houses. They managed to pull Seggrit the shopkeeper from his collapsing house and free Threnn who was being routed by templars and mages.

 

“You know we always wanted Templars and mages to work together in harmony,” Varric said as his bows flew overhead. “Do we put this down as a success?”

 

“Shut up!” Cullen snapped, cutting down a templar bathed in red lyrium, his eyes all aglow. Cullen’s sword was red with blood, his brow and robes specked with the blood of the dead. He blocked a fired ice spell, only to see Cassandra charge the mage and cut him down. He dragged Threnn to her feet, seeing Evelyn, Sera and Solas run up with Flissa and Adan. “To the Chantry!” he snapped.

 

They ran ahead as the Chantry doors opened. “This way,” Roderick grimaced. “The Chantry is your shelter…” They ran into the relative safety of the Chantry. Cullen looked at Roderick with concern. The Chancellor’s robes were bloodied badly, and he held his hand to his side to cover a gaping wound. Cole was there then, just as the Chancellor collapsed. Cullen moved to shut the doors behind them.

 

“He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep,” Cole explained as he shouldered Roderick’s arm, helping the man to a chair. “He’s going to die.”

 

“Charming boy,” the Chancellor grunted in pain.

 

“Herald!” Evelyn came to him. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time the avalanche bought us.” There was blood on her face, her forehead marked with a wound.

 

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” Cole said quietly. “It was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

 

“To the Void with what it fucking looks like,” Evelyn snarled. “It’s cut a path for that damn army! There has been no communications, no demands, just wave upon wave of attack. What do they want? Slaughter?”

 

“There has been no bargaining with the mages either,” Dorian joined them, holding his staff, breathless from the defence of the Chantry. “This Elder One takes what it wants. From what I gathered in Redcliffe, it marched all this way to take your Herald.”

 

“That’s true,” Cole murmured.

 

Cullen grit his teeth. “Why?” he demanded.

 

“You took his templars, maybe?” Cole said.

 

“Besides that, I don’t know what could have incurred this much wrath,” Dorian smiled cynically. “And such a promising start with the landslide too. If only trebuchets remained an option.”

 

“They are,” Evelyn blinked. “We have one left. If we could turn it to the other side of the valley-”

 

“That isn’t possible,” Cullen said. “They are already upon us. To hit them, we’d have to wipe out Haven.” Cullen caught Evelyn’s eye. “This is not survivable now.”

 

She seemed to steel herself, her hand barely shaking. “Then we will kill as many as we can if we must die!” she snarled.

 

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” Cole told them. “He only wants the Herald.”

 

“Well, that’s unacceptable,” Dorian said, glaring at them both. “I didn’t race all this way for you to drop rocks on my head.”

 

“Should we submit?” Evelyn growled. “Let them slaughter us one by one, starting with Cullen?”

 

“Dying is typically the last resort!” Dorian snapped at her, their eyes locking in shared fury. “For Templars, you both think like blood mages!”

 

“Yes… There is a way,” Cole’s voice cut in. “Chancellor Roderick wants to say it before he dies.”

 

They turned to Roderick, who winced as he tried to prop himself up on the chair. “There is a path,” he croaked. “But you wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the Summer Pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape - She must have shown me! Andraste must have shown me so I could tell you...” He painfully stood up with Cole support.

 

“What are you on about, Roderick?” Cullen asked.

 

“It was whim that I walked the path… I did not mean to start, it was overgrown. Now with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don’t know…” He gasped in pain. Cullen felt pity for the man.

 

“Easy,” he said quietly, holding Roderick’s shoulder.

 

“If this simple memory can save us,” Roderick whispered. “This could be more than mere accident - you could be more.”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “If we have a diversion, can we get the people out?” he asked Evelyn.

 

“Yes, if he shows us the path,” she said. “What of you?”

 

Cullen looked away from her, his eyes hard. He had faced the possibility of death many times, at least this time he knew for certain it was for a worthy cause. She was looking at him with rising horror in his eyes. “Cullen you can’t be thinking-”

 

“Then do it,” Cullen said firmly. “Save them, as many as you can.”

 

She grit her teeth. “Perhaps you’ll surprise it,” she said quietly. “Find a way…” She turned then to the forces gathered in the Chantry. “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry, bring everyone you can. Warden Blackwall and Dorian will bring up the rear. Sera! You’ll accompany them, we need someone with good eyes back there. Platoon six will be under their command. I want Crew three at the inner trebuchet - arm it and aim it at the mountains above it - do not retreat until the Herald commands!”

 

Cassandra walked up to Cullen with Varric and Solas at her side. “I cannot order you to do this,” Cullen said to them all.

 

“Good,” Cassandra said, drawing her sword. “We weren’t planning on listening to you should you tell us to stay behind regardless.”

 

That lifted his spirits a bit.

 

“Herald,” Roderick rasped. “If you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you…”

 

Cullen nodded. “Maker go with you, Chancellor Roderick.”

 

“And you, Herald of Andraste.”

 

Evelyn marched back to them. “Crew Three will load the trebuchet, Herald,” she said. “Hold this Elder One’s attention until we are above the tree line.” She looked at him intently. “If we are to have a chance - if you are to have a chance. Let that thing hear you, Herald.” She sheathed her sword, her eyes dark and her face specked with blood. “Make it scream, if you can.”

 

Cullen nodded and she turned to lead the forces out. Cullen strode to the doors and opened them.

 

“So, get that thing’s attention huh? I can be an asshole when I want to be!” Varric grinned, cocking Bianca as the doors were shut behind them. Red Templars and mages outside turned to see them and yelled their charge. “Let’s kick some ass!” Varric smirked. Cullen levelled his blade, raised his shield and charged, the barrier springing over his body immediately. They cut their way through the forces in Haven, their blades leaving a wake of blood and fire behind them. Cullen’s mind was filled with no thought other than the fight before him. He moved with ferocity through the fray, knowing all the weak points in the templar’s armour, all the counters to the mage’s spells. They tore their way through the enemy until the last trebuchet was in sight. Crew three was already dead around the trebuchet, but even Cullen could see that the engine had been loaded.

 

There was a mage standing before the trebuchet, her eyes dark and her hair short. “Fiona!” Cullen shouted. “Don’t do this!” Templars charged them from where they stood flanking her. She looked at him with dark eyes full of tears and began to weave her spell, pulling at the veil with her hands.

 

Cullen swore as Varric’s bolts took down a templar, another freezing in Solas’s spell, only to be smashed by Cassandra’s shield. Cullen dodged the melee and ran for Fiona. He knew the spell she was casting, he could feel it in the growing chill in the air. If she summoned a blizzard around them, it was over.

 

He parried a blow from a charging templar and kicked the templar in the side, his blade rounding to cut the man down. A blast of flame was caught on his shield, pinning him in place as he crouched behind his shield. The fire abruptly stopped as a bolt took out the mage firing it. He ran ahead to Fiona, her tearing eyes raised to the roiling sky as she pulled her spell into being.

 

“Fiona! Stop!” Cullen shouted as he ran on. “You don’t have to do this!”

 

“I must!” she wept. “We are indentured. The Elder One demands it of us!”

 

“No he does not!” Cullen shouted and flew back as a barrier blasted him from her side.

 

“He will kill all of my people if I do not obey, Herald,” she looked at him then, the tears from her eyes rising with her magic. She held the spell in place.

 

Cassandra ran ahead, a blast of blue from her body shattering the barrier. Cullen picked himself up and followed her charge. “I wish you could have saved us,” Fiona whispered, the cold rising around them, swirling in a rising storm. Cullen did not stop to think, he drove his blade into her body.

 

She gasped and spat out blood, not an ounce of resistance from her as Cullen drove his sword into her. He braced as the spell blasted apart, shards of ice ripping from the epicentre that was Fiona. Varric and Solas were thrown to the ground.

 

Fiona whimpered on his blade, looking at him  with eyes full of sorrow. She slumped dead then, falling limp on his blade. Cullen bit back the curses. She fought because her people were hostage. This Elder One… had to die. As she fell to the snow, an amulet fell from her grasp. Cullen reached down the took it. “I’m sorry, Fiona,” he whispered and left her body in the snow, staring up into the sky that still roiled and twisted with her conjured blizzard.

 

“The trebuchet!” Cassandra snapped at him.

 

Cullen heard the growl of the dragon above, the beating of its wings ripping the air apart. “Get Varric and Solas out!” he shouted at Cassandra and made a dash for the trebuchet before the dragon could blast it apart. But in the scarred sky, Cullen could see the dragon round on him , diving straight to him, winged death from above. He swore and pushed himself, running faster until the beast let out a blast of red crystaline flame. He staggered back from the force of the blast. “No!” he growled, the fire hitting casks of naphta. Cullen raised his arms to protect his face barely in time as the casks exploded, throwing him back from the trebuchet, losing his sword and shield as he flew.

 

He landed in the snow heavily, lights flashing in his eyes, his ears filled with a high ring that engulfed the world. There was fire everywhere, all around him. He couldn’t see Cassandra or the others. He hoped they lived. He grunted, his body a symphony of pain, his head bleeding. He groaned. He had managed to escape bad injury so far, his luck had apparently ended. He groaned and stood up, then saw a figure in the flames. It walked with purpose, long limbs ending with clawed hands, it body a tangled mess of red lyrium with what looked like human skin pulled over the armour pieces, its shoulders bore black fur and dragon bone. Cullen gasped, feeling fear despite himself as the creature’s dark eyes caught his. He staggered back, only to cry out when the dragon landed heavily behind him like a falling nightmare. The ground shook with its heavy steps as it landed, his heart hammering in time with the beast’s growl. The dragon roared a challenge over him, its breath like a furnace, washing over Cullen. Cullen shielded himself with his arms. He backed away from the dragon instead as it watched him, hungry, its eyes beady and its mouth slowly opening.

 

“Enough!” A voice cracked like a whip and red magic flared around the dragon’s mouth. The beast growled unhappily and backed off. Cullen turned to the… Elder One. He blinked back the blood that flowed into his eye from the wound.

 

“Pretender,” he heard. Cullen felt his soul shrivel at the sound of that voice. His heart hammering in his chest as the ringing in his ears still disorientated him. “You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

 

“I do not fear you, creature!” Cullen shouted, raging against the fear.

 

The Elder One seemed to smirk. “Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies.” Cullen found himself backing away, but froze when he felt the dragon’s breath on him. “Know me,” the Elder One’s voice was almost gentle. “Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The will that is Corypheus!” Cullen watched a long clawed finger point to him, filling his world. “You will kneel.”

 

He grunted, resisting the urge to kneel, to beg, to live - no, he would not die begging! If he had to die, if it had to be today, then it was the Maker’s will! Andraste would watch over him, guide him. “Die in the Void!” Cullen cried back at the Elder One, his voice slightly shaking.

 

“You will resist,” Corypheus smiled, sounding almost please. “You will always resist. It matters not.” He drew out a thing in his hand, round and beautiful, delicate swirls on an orb that was carved out of black granite. Cullen eyed it warily. He had nowhere to run! “I am here for the Anchor,” Corypheus purred. “The process of removing it begins now.”

 

Cullen cried out as the mark flared to life with Corypheus’s outstretched hand rising towards him, ripping pain through his arm and up his shoulder. He grasped his wrist, wincing in pain.

 

“It is your fault, “Herald.” Corypheus watched him, the orb flaring red and green in his palm as the mark burned in Cullen’s hand. “You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.” The mark flared again, red fire among the sparks. Cullen gritted his teeth, his whole body on fire from the mark. He tried not to scream. “I do not know how you survived,” Corypheus held a clawed out hand out hungrily. “But what marks you as “touched,” what you flail at rifts…” Cullen saw those eyes, reaching into him - eyes of madness. “I crafted to assault the very heavens.” His hand closed into a fist and Cullen screamed, the mark ripping through him and sending him to his knees. His face was beaded with sweat, he could hear his own scream echoing over the roar of the flames around him, over the breathing of the dragon. “And you used the Anchor to undo my work! The gall!”

 

Cullen gripped his wrist, feeling like his whole arm were being torn apart from within. “What is this thing meant to do?” he snarled.

 

“It was meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” Corypheus seemed frustrated as he strode to Cullen on the ground in agony. Cullen felt a hand wrap around his forearm and lift him up. He cried out, lights flashing in his eyes with the pain as he hung from his arm in Corypheus’s grip. Corypheus seemed to be examining the mark blazing on his hand. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person.” His eyes turned to Cullen’s, stripping him naked, shrinking him with a mere glance. “I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers… For a thousand years, I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own - to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods, and it was empty!”

 

Corypheus flung him aside. Cullen crashed into the side of the trebuchet and cried out. His was hurting all over, his arm was in agony and his head bled down into his eye. He saw a sword by the trebuchet, his sword. He crawled and reached for it. He leaned back against the trebuchet, not trusting himself to stand as he panted heavily from the pain.

 

“The Anchor is permanent,” Corypheus snarled as he walked to Cullen, the dragon prowling after him. “You have spoilt it with your stumbling.” What was he talking about? Cullen stared down the beast, his hand shaking as he held his sword. “So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation - and god - it requires. And you… I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

 

Cullen sank back, praying for hope, praying for deliverance, would there be any before this creature, or was he meant to die here? He looked up at the sky behind Corypheus and saw, like a single rising star, a flare fired up into the night.

 

_In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know your Light remains…_

 

If he would die… let them live. He held his blade out to Corypheus. “You expect us all to surrender and kneel?” he snarled. “We will not! You’ll face us all - when we choose!” He turned and kicked the firing clasp of the trebuchet free. The handle freewheeled as the counterweight flung the arm over Haven, crashing down into the mountain above the village. Corypheus and the dragon turned to stare at the advancing tide of snow. Cullen dropped the sword and ran for cover, the avalanche thundering down behind him, the dragon roaring in rage. Perhaps and overhang, a basement - anything! His foot caught a board and fell right through. He grunted in pain and tumbled down into the darkness as the avalanche flowed above him, blotting out the light.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is having the worst week ever. Let me know what you think of the changes between the fic and the game, I'd like to know I'm still going in the right direction here.


	12. Where the Sky is Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen barely escapes Haven, stripped of everything he once thought he knew.

Cullen was aware of a dull, hollow breeze blowing around him, moaning in his ears. Droplets of water trickled down in the distance, echoing as they fell. He slowly drifted awake. Where was he? A blast from the mark shot fire through his body. He gasped in pain and curled up, clutching at the mark until the fire subsided. The mark felt different. It felt more spiteful, vicious, almost angry. He bit his lip and looked around. He was in a cave, lying in a puddle of water. Ice lined the walls, water dripping from glittering stalactites of ice. There was snow on him and around him, but he seemed to have escaped the worst of the avalanche. He looked up at the hole he fell through, high above him. That he survived was a miracle. He balled his marked hand into a fist and forced himself to stand.

 

He knew Haven was crisscrossed with caves and tunnels like these, or was this a sewer? To think that one had saved him. He saw a path ahead and limped forward, his joints protesting every movement, his muscles stiff from cold. Still, he pushed forward. He didn’t know how long he walked, but he walked anyway, following the breeze, always heading towards it. There must be an exit somewhere. His mind wandered to Corypheus. The thing was a monster, if he indeed did everything he said. He stormed the Black City? That meant Corypheus was one of the original magisters who started the first Blight. Which was a horrifying thought. Cullen wondered if everyone was alright… he hoped they made it out safely.

 

His footsteps stilled then, realizing that there were sounds ahead, hissing, whispering in the deep. He felt his mark throbbing and flaring spitefully, eager for release. He peered around the corner and saw demons, demons he recognized as demons of despair, floating in the dimness. They turned their heads sharply and saw him. He backed away. His sword was gone, they were charging, their screams malevolent. He held out the marked hand before him and by instinct and felt it flare. He gasped as it pulled something out of him to fuel it. Then he saw the rift open above the demons, pulling them back like a vortex. Cullen shielded his eyes, bracing from the pull that affected even him. Then it burst and vanished, taking the demons with it. Cullen let out an explosive breath and looked down at the mark, his eyes wild. He had no idea how he had just done that. He’d opened a rift!

 

He swallowed and closed his marked hand. The mark still flared, but didn’t sting any longer. He would deal with that later. Mysteries were of no use to the dead. He ran as quickly as he could, following the wind which blew stronger now. He saw the opening of the tunnel. He ran to the archway that led to a gray blue darkness beyond. Then the cold and the wind hit him.

 

He gasped, shielding his eyes from the wind. He shivered, his teeth chattering in the flying clouds of snow. Was this Fiona’s blizzard? The result of the avalanche? How did snowy mountains work exactly? He stepped down into the snow and startled as his feet sank down to his knees in the freshly fallen snow. He looked up and saw the cleft in the mountains. He made his way towards it, not knowing if it was the right way to go, as long as he was going. He just walked and put his faith in the Maker.

 

There were people. Faces. He saw them in the snow, drifting around him. “Hello?” he called, his mind drunk on fatigue. Evelyn was standing at a table, leaning over the trebuchet plans. She turned to speak to Cassandra. He found himself moving to them, moving down slope. He dragged his foot from the snow and stumbled, the wind tugging at his furs, stinging his eyes. He pushed himself up and looked around. He was alone. He shook his head. He was seeing things. Stupid, they wouldn’t be out here in the snow. He grit his teeth and walked on, his hand shielding his eyes from both the wind and the visions.

 

After what felt like hours, he came into the trees. The pines provided no relief for him, only making the wind howl fiercely around him. He froze then, hearing another howl. Wolves? Wind? He was so cold. He couldn’t think straight. He saw the remains of a fire pit and made his way towards it, dragging his feet in the snow. He touched the pit with shivering fingers. “Cold,” he muttered, his voice carried away by the wind. He turned from the pit and pressed on, shivering, weary, too exhausted to think. “I have heard the sound, a song in the stillness,” he whispered, dragging his weary legs. “The echo of Your voice…” He would not be abandoned by the Maker, if it was true that he was meant to be on this path. He pressed on, the wind carrying his prayers into the mountains.

 

The blizzard must have stopped after some time, or did he get high enough? He had no idea. All he knew was that the wind ceased. He had reached above the tree line now, and saw the remains of another fire pit in the distance. He pushed forward, staggering as he pulled his feet from the snow, and bent to examine the pit, practically falling to his hands and knees. He saw there a glow of embers. He laughed at the sight of this, his brain drunk on fatigue and pain. He pushed himself to his feet and nearly fell again.

 

Then he struggled on beyond the rise above him, snow crunching under his feet. He could see the glow of a campsite reflecting off the mountainside above him. He smiled and walked on, the sound of voices were distant but there. He came around the bend in the path and saw the glow of the camp below.

 

“There! He’s alive!” He heard Evelyn’s voice, like the song of Andraste herself. He smiled and sank to his knees, falling weakly into the snow. “Cullen!” she was yelling, fear in her voice. Why? She had  made it out...

 

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra. She lived.

 

He felt himself rolled over onto his back in the snow. “Cullen!” He opened his eyes to see her the blueness of Evelyn’s eyes looking down at him, her hair a dark mass tossed by the fitful breeze. So blue. He touched her face weakly. She was real. She gasped and pushed his hand away, blushing. “This isn’t the time…” But Cullen had already passed out.

 

++++

 

“What would you have me do? March them through the mountains to another lickspittle village?” Cullen heard and frowned. There was yelling somewhere nearby. He blinked, seeing the canvas roof of a tent above him, flickering firelight dancing across it. He was warmer than before, a thick fur blanket placed over his body. He touched his chest, his armour had been removed. His head ached.

 

“We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!” The shouting wasn’t helping. He grunted and pushed himself up to his elbow, glancing at Mother Giselle who sat next to his cot. She lay a soothing hand on his shoulder.

 

“I didn’t know you were the one in charge now!” That was Evelyn, her arms crossed as she faced down Cassandra. He was in a tent in the camp which was all that was left of Haven and its villagers.

 

Josephine stepped in between the two women. “Please, we must use reason!” she begged. “Without a site to house the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled!”

 

“So what are we supposed to do? Set up shop in Rainesfere? No one will take us in!”

 

“She didn’t say that!” Leliana snapped.

 

Cassandra smashed her fist on the table between them. “Enough!” Cassandra boomed. “This is getting us nowhere!”

 

“At least we agree on something!” Evelyn snarled and stormed away.

 

Cullen sighed heavily. “Shh,” Mother Giselle soothed. “You need rest.”

 

“How long has that been going on?” Cullen asked.

 

“Several hours now. I’m surprised you didn’t wake up from the noise earlier. But they have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame.” Mother Giselle sighed. “Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus.”

 

“Where is Corypheus?”

 

“We’re not sure where we are. Which may be why, despite the numbers he still commands, there is no sign of him.” She picked up a flagon of warmed wine from a barrel that served as a table and poured him a goblet. “That, or you are believed dead. Or without Haven, we are thought helpless. Or he girds for another attack.” Cullen sighed and sat up, swinging his legs off the cot, the tent spinning as his head throbbed. He took the wine gratefully and drank. “I cannot claim to know the mind of that creature,” she went on. “Only his effect on us.”

 

He handed her the empty goblet, feeling a little better. “If they’re arguing about what to do next, I should-”

 

“Another heated voice won’t help. Even yours. Perhaps, especially yours,” she said quietly. “Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand… and fall. And now we have seen him return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trials seem ordained.” Cullen stared at his feet, his hands resting on the edge of the cot as Mother Giselle’s words washed over him. “That is hard to accept, no? What “we” have been called to endure? What “we,” perhaps, must come to believe?”

 

Belief? Cullen frowned and sighed. “Even if I was meant for this,” he muttered. “That didn’t help at Haven, nor will it aid us now.” He stood up a little unsteadily, and stepped out of the tent. He looked at the faces of his friends, all of them dejected, defeated. He was no different. What had he accomplished? What had he wrought? A reprisal from an ancient magister that nearly killed them all. He hung his head, his hands on his waist. Maker, what was he supposed to do...

 

Mother Giselle’s voice rose then, a resonating alto that rang out in the tune of a song he’d sung so often the words had lost all meaning. “ _Shadows fall, and hope has fled… Steel your heart, the dawn will come…_ ”

 

He stared at her, but she did not meet his eyes, only her song rising over the tents. “ _The night is long, and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon… the day soon, the dawn will come…_ ”

 

The song was carried now by other voices, Leliana’s soaring above the growing crowd, a lilting melodious voice of a nightingale. “ _The shepherd’s lost, and his home is far… Keep to the stars, the dawn will come…_ ”

 

“ _The night is long and the path is dark…_ ” Evelyn’s joined in the song, throaty and resonant. “ _Look to the sky, for one day soon… the dawn will come…_ ” Cullen stared incredulously at the people who gathered around him, their hands clasped in prayer, their eyes filled with hope. “ _Bare your blade and raise it high… stand your ground, the dawn will come…_ ” Some genuflected before him, their voices and their fervent song pouring out over him, the vessel of all their hope. The Herald of Andraste. “ _The night is long and the path is dark…_ ” What was he supposed to do? They believed in him. No, not in him. They believed in the Maker, that the Maker would send a Herald to do His work… “ _Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come…_ ”

 

He swallowed when the song ended, averting his eyes from the crowd. He couldn’t do this, how could he when he was filled with such doubt?

 

Mother Giselle seemed to read his thoughts. “Faith is made stronger by facing doubt,” she said to him as the crowd cheered with renewed hope. “Untested, Cullen, faith is nothing.” She stepped away from him. Untested? Was that what this was?

 

Cullen was about to call out to her when a hand touched his elbow. He turned to see Solas, the elf’s eyes intent. “A word,” Solas said. Cullen was grateful to step away from the hopeful eyes of the villagers and the uncomfortable thoughts of faith. He followed Solas to the edge of the camp.

 

The elf walked without even a coat on, his feet partially bare. As they left the light of the camp, the moonlight illuminated the snow around them. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Maker’s breath,” he sighed as Solas stopped by a torch standing in the snow. He waved a hand idly and a green fire burst to life, flickering joyfully in the torch.

 

“A wise woman, worth heeding,” Solas said to him. “Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause - or fracture it.”

 

“I’m happy someone does,” Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think I could bear it if they break into song again.” It was too much to be the receptacle of all their hopes.

 

“I did not ask you here to discuss music,” Solas smiled faintly, standing with his hands behind his back. Solas always reminded Cullen of his teachers in Honnleath’s little school. “The orb Corypheus carries, the power he used against you. It is elven.”

 

“What?”

 

“Corypheus used the Orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. I do not yet know how Corypheus survived. Nor am I certain how people will react when they learn of the Orb’s origin.”

 

One problem to the next. “Alright, Solas,” Cullen said, looking at the elf intently. “You have my attention. What is it and dare I ask how you even know about it?”

 

“They were foci, once used to channel ancient magicks. I have seen such things in the Fade, old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter. His empire’s magic was built on the bones of my people. Knowing or not, he risks our alliance. I cannot allow it.”

 

Cullen frowned as he met Solas’s eyes. “I can see how elves may become an easy target,” he said seriously.

 

“History would agree,” Solas murmured. “But there are steps we can take to prevent such a distraction.” Solas turned his eyes to the mountain. “By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Changed you. Scout to the north. Be their guide.”

 

“What’s to the north?” Cullen asked.

 

“There is a place that waits for a force to hold it; a place where the Inquisition can build... grow…”

 

Cullen’s eyes were questioning as he met the elf’s gaze, so certain and ancient and knowing. “A place” Solas said, “where the sky is kept.”

 

++++

 

The keep was called Skyhold. Cassandra and Cullen stared up at the abandoned keep even as Leliana, Josephine and Evelyn were already taking charge, organizing the survivors to settle them in. The keep was ancient and dilapidated, most of the wooden beams holding the roofs up succumbing to the elements, the battlements battered from ancient siege weapons. Yet here it stood, alone and abandoned in the mountains, waiting for their arrival. “How did you know about this place?” Cassandra asked him.

 

“I didn’t,” Cullen admitted, looking up at the main hall rising over the courtyard. “Solas pointed me in the general direction. Then we found it. He says he saw this place in his walks in the Fade. I stopped asking at that point.”

 

Cassandra gave a short laugh. “You know that is not what people will believe,” she said.

 

“I know,” Cullen sighed. “I don’t want them to believe… but I cannot change the way they see me, however mistaken I think they are.”

 

“Mistaken?” Cassandra asked, eyeing him.

 

“Nevermind,” Cullen said. He didn’t want to talk about how troubled he felt. “You know we missed the invitation.”

 

“What invitation?”

 

“To the First Enchanter Vivienne’s salon,” he said.

 

“Maker! I had completely forgotten!”

 

“So had I,” Cullen sighed. “First with the mages, then the templars, then Haven…” He looked up at the keep. He needed some time alone. “I should go meet her,” he said finally. “For… whatever good it does.”

 

“On your own?”

 

“I am certain Corypheus thinks me dead,” Cullen said. “I can pass by unnoticed.”

 

Cassandra’s eyes hardened. “Absolutely not. Take someone with you. Varric or Solas or-”

 

“I’ll bring Warden Blackwall and some troops,” Cullen said. The fewer the better. He wanted to just… think.

 

Cassandra seemed to consider this and then sighed. “Perhaps you should get away for a while,” she said. “You have no duties here, and there are rifts you can close along the way.”

 

“Of course,” he murmured. The Breach was sealed, but there were still rifts. The tasks never ended. He still had things that required his attention. “I should get on that, then, shouldn’t I?”

 

++++

 

Chateau de Ghislaine was radiant in the sunshine. Cullen had left Blackwall and the troops in the adjoining village to the Chateau. It was opulent, rich, typically Orlesian, and Cullen felt underdressed in his armour and fur. Around him came the scent of wines and grapes from the arbor. It was a smell that reminded him of his siblings. That brought a pang to his heart. He climbed the steps to the brilliant blue doors and was admitted before he even knocked. A liveried servant bowed. “My Lord Herald,” he greeted. “Madam de Fer is expecting you.”

 

“Is she?” he said.

 

The servant gestured for him to follow and Cullen was led through the house, his boots ringing on the expensive marble floors, sounding over the trickle of water from the fountain. “How did she know to expect me?” Cullen asked the servant as they climbed the stairs around the fountain, heading to the back of the house.

 

“We were sent word that the Inquisition had entered the village and taken up at the inn.”

 

“I suppose that makes sense,” Cullen muttered, scratching his stubble. He should have shaved. Actually, he did shave, but he should have been more determined about it. He always had a five-o-clock shadow by nine in the morning. He was led to a garden, delicately maintained. In a marble gazebo, a woman was seated at a wrought iron table, waiting, sipping delicately from a cup of tea. She was every inch the image of elegance, from the horned henin on her head to the lavish collar and puffed sleeves, Cullen knew that her dress probably cost as much as his whole set of armour. “First Enchanter Vivienne,” he greeted, and resisted the urge to salute.

 

“Herald of Andraste,” she smiled up at him, her dark eyes calculating. “Fashionably late, I see.”

 

“Apologies for missing the salon,” Cullen said as she gestured for him to sit down. Cullen did so, sitting adjacent to her at the table.

 

“Yes, we were devastated you could not attend,” she purred as a servant poured Cullen a cup of tea. “But the important thing is that you are now here. And after the loss of Haven, no less.”

 

“Word has spread,” Cullen noted as he sipped his tea.

 

“Indeed, I have heard a lot about your activities in these past two weeks, Herald,” she watched him, he found her calculating eyes disconcerting. “Not only was Haven destroyed, but you also managed to bring the Templars to heel. Such intriguing bad and good news at the same time. We will need every Templar, but they will require proper management, and lyrium.”

 

“I know a thing or two about managing Templars, as does the Commander of the Inquisition. We’ve also got caches of our own lyrium. I expect a new supply line to be established within the week. Bringing the Templars to heel was a matter of necessity,” Cullen sighed. “We had to deal with the mages in Redcliffe. Unfortunately, that brought reprisal from this… Elder One.”

 

“It was a mistake to use Haven as a base of operations, the town was completely indefensible.”

 

Her words cut deep, but they weren’t words he hadn’t said to himself on the journey over here. “Yes,” he replied simply.

 

“You left yourself vulnerable to attack. It was a miscalculation on your part, my dear, one that I’m sure you won’t repeat.”

 

Cullen’s cup paused at his lips and he lowered it. “I agree,” he said, his voice deliberate and steady.

 

She looked him over. “And yet you bear it well. Good. The troops will take their cue from your composure.” She sipped her tea. “You seem to have handled the crisis competently, saving as many people as you did. What have you since done to remedy this situation?”

 

“We have found a new keep, one far more defensible, one we didn’t know about before,” he replied. “Skyhold will serve us better than Haven ever could.” He sipped his tea, his honeyed eyes dark. “And Corypheus will answer for what he’s done.”

 

“You’re angry,” she smiled. “Good. Anger can save you when everything else is gone. This begs the next question, of course. Why have you come to me?”

 

Cullen smiled slightly. “I came for the same reason you sought me out in the first place,” he replied. “In the hope that you could offer aid.”

 

“Really, now?” she chuckled in amusement. “And what aid could I offer?”

 

“Besides your extensive contacts and pull in the Orlesian court? Let me think. If anything, Haven has shown that the rebel mages have proven to be dangerous,” he replied, setting down his cup. “They allied with Tervinter, and now come at us as enemies, as part of this Venatori. We need the loyalist mages to stand with the Inquisition and the Templars.”

 

She laughed. “So forthright, my dear.”

 

“I am a Templar,” he replied. “Or I was. We tend to be that way.” He looked at her directly. “And if my summation is correct, wasn’t that why you sought to meet me in the first place? For an alliance?”

 

She laughed again, seeming delighted. “And what gives you that idea, my dear?”

 

“The fact that this chaos threatens everyone; the fact that two weeks ago, the Templars and the mages were on the verge of all out war across Thedas. Divine Justinia is dead, the Chantry in shambles - only the Inquisition sought to actively end the chaos. The Loyalist mages are loyal to Thedosians, and the Inquisition fights to restore order. It would be the wisest course of action for our two organizations to ally. So, being the leader of the last loyal mages, you sought me out to propose this alliance.” He paused, leaning back in his chair. “Was I wrong, Madame Vivienne?”

 

Her laugher rose across the garden. She lay a hand on his arm. “What a charming dear you are,” she beamed. “I was worried, you know, to hear that the Herald of Andraste was a templar. I feared an uneducated lout, suspicious of all mages. But you are proving… interesting.” She set down her cup. “Yes, my dear Herald, you are correct on all accounts. I do wish to render my aid to the Inquisition, and it appears that you need it now more than ever. I will bring the last of the loyal mages to this… Skyhold. Hopefully, we may be able to stop this Tervinter cult and bring those rebellious malcontents to heel.”

 

“Then the Inquisition welcomes you, Madame Vivienne,” Cullen smiled. “We look forward to seeing you and your mages in Skyhold.”

 

She smiled warmly at him. “Great things are beginning, my dear, I can promise you that.”

 

++++

 

They were at an inn in West Hills, at the foot of the Frostbacks. Come the morning, Cullen, Blackwall and the handful of troops would be heading through the mountain pass towards Skyhold. The inn was low-beamed and relatively empty. Few tended to stay in the inn where the Herald of Andraste sat drinking brandy in the common room, silent and by himself. Around him, keeping a respectful distance, the soldiers stood guard. It was a necessary security detail, one that Cullen was happy to endure if it kept people from coming up to him and asking for his blessing or trying to touch his clothes as if… as if that would confer the Maker’s gaze upon them.

 

Cullen did not look up at the sound of heavy boots coming down the stairs from the upper rooms. A flagon of ale was thumped heavily on Cullen’s table, making him jump. “Maker’s breath!” he exclaimed, looking up at Blackwall. “What are you-”

 

“Enough is enough, Herald,” Blackwall said brusquely as he sat himself down at Cullen’s table uninvited. He was donned in a simple tunic and breeches, even though Cullen himself still wore his armour and leathers.

 

“What are you talking about, Blackwall?”

 

“Your moping,” Blackwall said. “You’ve been sitting by yourself since we left Skyhold. Frankly, it’s getting dull.”

 

Cullen sighed. He did not want this. “I’m not moping,” he said.

 

“What do you call this then?”

 

Cullen was at a loss. He was being juvenile, he knew. “I’ll leave you to your drinks,” he moved to stand.

 

“Sit down, Cullen, this is daft.” Blackwall sipped his ale as Cullen settled back down, cheeks coloring. Blackwall licked the foam from his mustache. “You know when I first saw you,” he began as he reached out to top up Cullen’s glass. “I thought to myself, there’s a man who’s been through too much, he’s seen the best and the worst of humanity.” He set the bottle of brandy down on the table. “And now I see he still struggles with where that leads him.”

 

Cullen said nothing, looking down into his cup.

 

“Look,” Blackwall said comfortingly. “In spite of it all, there is hope. The people will flock to your banner. You saw that happened at the camp. They believe in you.”

 

Cullen tried not to wince. He took a long drink of brandy and avoided Blackwall’s look.

 

“Tell me honestly, Cullen, are you what they say you are? Andraste’s chosen?”

 

The cup hit the table hard. “I wish they’d understand that I’m really nobody!” he snapped. He hissed then as the mark stung him. It seemed to rouse in his anger. He tried to calm himself.

 

He felt Blackwall’s hand on his shoulder, making him look up. “You’re somebody,” Blackwall growled, his dark eyes intent, his brow furrowed. “Don’t you see what you are to them? Without you, they’d be consumed by despair! We all would. They need you to be Andraste’s messenger. It gives them hope. The truth doesn’t matter.”

 

Cullen stared at him. He was no holy person, no saint or prophet, but the people needed someone to believe in. He wished it wasn’t him… “You of all people know how important a cause is to an army, Cullen,” Blackwall said. “Whatever it was that got you here don’t matter. Where do you go from here? Can you play the part? Be that idea that the men need to believe in?” Blackwall let go of his shoulder.

 

Cullen sighed heavily. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “But I have a feeling that my thoughts on the matter don’t count. I’m going to have to do it, whatever I feel.”

 

Blackwall smiled at that. “Good. It’s not going to be easy, but you’ll do it and you know it. Well, if you wanted comfort, you shouldn’t have become a soldier,” Blackwall sipped his beer. “Maybe stayed home with your silk sheets and pretty Ferelden ladies.”

 

Cullen snorted despite himself. “I never had silk sheets,” he replied. “And my mother would tan my hide if I even so much as looked at a lady, I think.”

 

“Speaking of ladies, have you seen the serving girl here?” Blackwall asked over the rim of his cup.

 

“What serving girl?” Cullen blinked.

 

“Maker’s balls, Cullen,” Blackwall laughed. “She’s been making eyes at you all night!”

 

“Has she?” Cullen blushed and picked up his drink. “That would not be appropriate.”

 

“What? Not for the Herald of Andraste?” Blackwall grinned.

 

“Didn’t you just spend the last few minutes trying to make me feel okay with that?” Cullen snapped.

 

“Laugh about it, will ya? Don’t be such a stick in the mud-”

 

“Excuse me.” They turned to the door where an Inquisition soldier was blocking the way with his huge axe. A young lad stood beyond, looking in at them, his armour glinting in the moonlight. “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but I’ve been having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

 

Cullen held a hand up to the guard, who let the young lad in. “Who are you, soldier?” asked Cullen.

 

“Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra,” said the boy, who stepped in, and bowed politely to them both. “I just came from Haven…”

 

“I’m sorry you wasted your time then,” Cullen said tightly. “What’s the message?”

 

“We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers this information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.”

 

“Why would he want to send us this information?” Cullen asked.

 

“Iron Bull wants to work for the Inquisition. He thinks you’re doing good work.”

 

Cullen glanced at Blackwall. They needed all the help they could get, right? “Alright,” he said. “We’ll meet this Iron Bull.”

 

“If you’re of a mind to leave from here, I can bring you to our camp,” Cremisius offered.

 

Cullen nodded. “In the morning then. Meet us here.” Cremisius bowed and left. Working like this was easier than dealing with a crisis of the faith. But maybe actions spoke louder than words. Just work, personal faith was secondary to the matter. “We need to get a bird out, let Skyhold know we’re making a detour to the Storm Coast to engage mercenaries. If they could reroute some forces in the area to prepare a forward camp, that would be very useful,” Cullen said to Blackwall, feeling better and sounding like his old self.

 

Blackwall smiled at him. “Good,” he said. “Spoken like a true soldier.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would make sense that the attack on Haven messed up timetables. I've never understood Vivienne's never ending salon and the eternal battle on the Storm Coast so I swapped events around and changed a few encounters. Thoughts? Is Cullen being too mopey?


	13. The Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Officially handed the mantle of Inquisitor, Cullen now has to deal with all the burdens that come with it, beginning with his Inner Circle.

Skyhold was busy when they returned. The path through the mountains was cleared of most of the forest debris that had blocked it on their descent. Pilgrims now walked the path as they passed, eyeing him but keeping a respectful distance as he rode beside Blackwall. Arriving at Skyhold, Cullen handed the reigns of his horse to Blackwall at the gate. “I’ll bring them to the stables,” Blackwall said. He jerked his beard to Evelyn, Josephine, Leliana and Cassandra watching him, waiting near the gate. Cassandra gestured for him to join them. “Looks like they’re waiting for you.”

 

“Thank you, Blackwall,” Cullen murmured. He moved to join them, but upon seeing him, the ladies smiled mysteriously. Leliana, Josephine and Evelyn walked off while Cassandra remained. Cullen raised an eyebrow, suddenly acutely aware that he was the only man among the group. “What’s going on?” he asked. “And who are all these people?”

 

“They arrive daily from every settlement,” Cassandra said, watching the pilgrims as they settled in the keep of Skyhold, milling about, watching him closely. “Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.”

 

“We noticed on our way up.” Cullen fell into step beside her as she walked, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “If word has reached these people, it would have reached the Elder One.”

 

“We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here,” Cassandra said as they climbed the stairs to the upper courtyard. “But this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated.”

 

“I agree,” he said seriously. “I’ve managed to secure the Loyalist mages and a band of mercenaries, but I think I will need to brief Evelyn and Leliana on them separately.”

 

Cassandra smiled at him. “That is part of what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you, Cullen.”

 

Cullen stopped and stared at her as they reached the top of the stairs. “You mean the mark?” he asked. “That’s completely useless to him now, so he’ll settle for my head, apparently.”

 

“The Anchor has power,” Cassandra said, continuing on upwards to the main hall. “But that’s not why you’re still standing here. “Your decisions let us heal the sky, your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature’s rival because of what you did, and we know it. All of us.”

 

Cullen frowned as they climbed the steps, pilgrims and soldiers were gathering in the lower courtyard. He looked up to see Leliana standing before him, a gilded sword in her hands, her head bowed beneath her hood. A sinking suspicion filled Cullen’s mind.

 

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” Cassandra said as they joined Leliana. “The one who has already been leading us.”

 

Cullen dropped his hands from the pommel of his sword and saw the people below looking up at him, those eyes full of hope... Evelyn and Josephine watched him from below as well. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered to Cassandra. “Are you - are you serious? You’re handing the Inquisition to me?”

 

“All of these people have their lives because of you,” Cassandra said to him. “They will follow.”

 

“That’s not the question,” Cullen grated.

 

“I will not lie, Cullen, handing this power to anyone is troubling. But I have to believe this is meant to be. We went to Kirkwall seeking another, and instead we found you. You were everything we needed, precisely when we needed it.” She gestured to the sword. “There would be no Inquisition without you. How you lead: that must be yours to decide.”

 

Cullen’s eyes fell to the sword, glinting red steel with a hilt forged like a rising dragon. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears, as he stood on the precipice of change. He could feel time and history bunching up in this moment. Not just the Herald, but the Inquisitor. Could he do this? Could he lead the Inquisition in all it demanded? His throat was dry as he reached out to take the sword.

 

His hand closed around the hilt, felt the weight of it, leadership made solid, something he could touch and feel and carry. And the mark was calm. Where do you go from here, Blackwall had asked him. Can you play the part?

 

The eye of the dragon on the hilt peered back at him, glowing like those red eyes of Corypheus. He saw only one path before him. He could play the part required of him. And he would. “This isn’t about some greater message,” he said, surprised at the way his voice came forth, more assured than he anticipated. “We have an enemy, and we must stand together. We’ll do what is right. We’ll do what has to be done to end the chaos. The Inquisition must fight for us all.”

 

“Wherever you lead us,” Cassandra smiled. She stepped up to the edge of the landing and addressed Josephine below. “Have our people been told?”

 

“They have!” Josephine called up, pride ringing in her voice. “And soon, the world!”

 

“Commander, will they follow?”

 

Evelyn turned to the gathered people. “Will you follow?” her voice rang out, impassioned and rousing. The crowd roared their resounding yes. “Will you fight?” she went on over their rising roar. “Will we triumph?” She turned to Cullen and drew her sword, saluting with the massive weapon with one hand. “Your leader, your Herald, your Inquisitor!”

 

The roaring cheer from the crowd rose in a mighty tide, filling the keep like thunder. He raised the red steel sword to the sky in salute, the most ancient of gestures for knights. Evelyn met his eye and smirked at him, the approval clear in her blue eyes. Beside her, Josephine cheered with abandon.

 

Cullen looked up at the sword he held aloft. If it had to be done, let it be done. He lowered the weapon and looked down at his marked hand, the thing that started it all and set him on this path. He may not be touched by Andraste, but he had to believe that this was, in some ineffable way, the Maker’s will.

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Cassandra. “Leliana, Josephine and Evelyn will advise you,” she said. “They will serve as Seneschal, Ambassador and Commander respectively, as they always have. But I will not be taking any position. I am even less suited to lead than you are.”

 

“That’s a vote of confidence right there,” he said.

 

Cassandra chuckled. “I look forward to sharing my opinions, however. That you cannot escape from.”

 

Cullen smiled at her. “Yes, that was entirely expected.”

 

+++++

 

First, there was the War Room. The new one. Cullen eyed the table in the centre of the round room, made of a cross-section of a massive tree and held aloft with its stump, the roots still spreading across the floor. “What is this?” he asked curiously as he and his advisers gathered around it.

 

“Solas tells us it is a Peace Tree,” Leliana replied. “Similar to the Vhenadahls in Alienages, this tree once stood as a tree of peace grown here in Skyhold.”

 

“And now we use it to plan war?” Cullen asked as he unrolled the map of Thedas across the table’s surface. That’s actually either poetic or ironic, depending on how you think of it. “Regardless, this is where it all begins.”

 

“No,” Leliana said. “It began in the courtyard. This is where we turn that promise into action.”

 

Josephine sighed. “But what do we do? We know nothing about Corypheus other than he wanted your mark.”

 

“What are our defences here?” Cullen asked.

 

“Far better than Haven,” Evelyn reported. “We have choke points and valleys a plenty. These ancient walls will be able to stand siege engines easily. Sappers have also been engaged for ballistae along the ramparts, which is the best we can do against dragons.” She had dark rings under her eyes now as she looked down at the map. “We can hold this place, Inquisitor.”

 

“Could that dragon of his really be an archdemon?” Cullen mused. “If so, this would mean another Blight.”

 

“But we’ve seen no darkspawn other than Corypheus himself,” Josephine pointed out. “Maybe it is not an archdemon but… something different?”

 

“Whatever it is, it’s dangerous,” Evelyn said. “And it’s presence at his side gives Corypheus an advantage that we can only pray to match.”

 

“We do have one advantage, however,” Leliana smiled slightly. “We know what Corypheus intends to do next.”

 

“We do,” Cullen said. “If the Envy demon in Therinfal was truly being predictive, then we know he’s going to strike at Empress Celine.”

 

“The chaos her death would cause…” Josephine breathed. “With his army of mages and templars-”

 

“Bolstered with a massive force of demons, somehow,” Cullen added.

 

“Corypheus could conquer the South, god or no god,” Josephine fretted.

 

“I wish we knew what we were dealing with,” Leliana sighed.

 

“Perhaps we should act on what we know first,” Evelyn replied. “The most immediate threat.”

 

Cullen set a map marker on Val Royeaux. “Then we need to get word to Celine,” he said. “She should be warned.”

 

“She would be at Halamshiral at this time of year,” Evelyn said, her fingers pushing the marker over. “If she can tear herself away from this foolish war with the Grand Duke, that is.”

 

“I can send word to the Empress,” Josephine said.

 

“We should gather what intelligence we can about Corypheus as well,” Cullen said. “And… about Samson.”

 

“Samson?” Leliana looked at him.

 

“An ex-templar I used to work with in Kirkwall. He was at the attack on Haven with Corypheus.”

 

Josephine’s brush moved on her pad, ticking things off her list.

 

“Then let us adjourn for now,” Cullen said. “We should also prepare for the arrival of Madame Vivienne and her mages - hopefully we’ll find a way to keep them away from Lysas and his group.”

 

“I’ll handle your new mercenary group,” Evelyn said. “I should have space for them in our barracks.”

 

And with that, they called their meeting to a close. As they were heading out of the War Room, Cullen saw Varric waiting outside, leaning against the wall as he looked out of the blasted open wall at the evergreens that waved gently in the breeze. “Curly- Or is it Inquisitor now?” he said, looking up when Cullen emerged.

 

“I’ve actually sort of grown attached to Curly,” he admitted. Varric seemed to wait until the three ladies had left the hallway. Cullen’s curiosity grew. “What’s going on?” he asked.

 

“Well, everyone acting all inspirational today sort of jogged my memory,” Varric said, glancing over his shoulder at the shut door to Josephine’s office.

 

“And…” Cullen asked slowly.

 

“So I sent word to a friend who may be able to help us,” Varric went on quickly. “He knows a thing or two about this Corypheus so I-I-”

 

Cullen glared at him as realization hit. “Is it Hawke?” he demanded.

 

Varric pulled him down by the breastplate, hissing with a finger in front of his lip. “Andraste’s tits, you’re going to get me killed!” Varric grated.

 

“Is it?” Cullen hissed.

 

“How did you even guess?”

 

“You don’t have that many friends, Varric!”

 

“I’m hurt.”

 

“Varric!”

 

Varric gave him a disgusted look. “Yes! It’s Hawke!”

 

Cullen grit his teeth. “You knew where he was this whole time?!” he grated. “We needed him!”

 

“Why?”

 

“He was supposed to be the Inquisitor!”

 

Varric stared at Cullen, his eyes widening slightly. “Maker’s fucking arse-”

 

“Damn it Varric!” Cullen ran a hand over his face. All this could have been avoided. “Maker’s breath… Alright, what’s done is done,” he straightened and tried to calm himself. “Where is he?”

 

“Er…” Varric looked over his shoulder. “Maybe you should meet me on the battlements tonight? I wouldn’t want… anyone-”

 

“Yes, Cassandra is going to kill you,” Cullen glared at him.

 

“We’ll see,” Varric said. “You’re not making this any easier, Curly.”

 

Truthfully, Cullen wasn’t trying. “Tonight, then, Varric,” Cullen said. “I’ll see you at the battlements.”

 

Varric looked somewhat relieved. “Right,” he said. “And just… keep it quiet. I’m going to go crawl into a hole and wait it out.”

 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in exasperation as the dwarf left him in the hallway, furtively stepping into Josephine’s office and making a quick escape.

 

Cullen sighed. Hawke was here, which was something, anyway. The Champion could be relied upon, though he wasn’t sure how he felt meeting someone from before the mark. Perhaps it would be a good thing. Now he had to deal with that Tevinter mage and somehow try to find Cole.

 

He found Dorian in the library, which in itself was a surprise - he wasn’t expecting Skyhold to have a fully stocked library in a week. Josephine worked wonders, it seemed. “Brilliant, isn’t it?” Dorian said as Cullen approached him in his little alcove by a window. “One moment you’re trying to restore order in a world gone mad. That should be enough for anyone to handle, yes? Then, out of nowhere, an archdemon appears and kicks you in the head! “What? You thought this would be easy?” Dorian pulled out a book and looked at the cover. “No! I was just hoping you wouldn’t crush our village like an anthill.” He tossed the book aside. “Sorry about that, archdemons like to crush, you know, can’t be helped!” He turned to Cullen. “Am I speaking too quickly for you?”

 

Cullen blinked, his mind had drifted. Haven, right. “No. The attack was unexpected. We were all terrified.”

 

“I’m not terrified,” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I’m the hero of this tale.”

 

Cullen smirked at the man. “So why isn’t Corypheus after you then?”

 

Dorian stroked his mustache. “Hmm, good point. Does that make me a lackey? That’s dangerous work.” Interesting Tevinter so far, Cullen thought to himself. “I always assumed this ‘Elder One’  behind the Venatori was a magister but this,” Dorian went on, “is something else completely. In Tevinter, they say the Chantry’s tales of Magisters starting the Blight are just that - Tales. But here we are. One of those very magisters. A darkspawn.”

 

“We don’t know what he is exactly,” Cullen said, feeling the throbbing in his head come on. Well, it was a daily thing. At least he wasn’t throwing up as he was when he first quit lyrium. “He could be lying. And even if he… is right, why does that makes you angry?”

 

Dorian’s look softened. “Because the Imperium is my home,” he replied. “I knew what I was taught couldn’t be the whole truth, but I assumed there had to be a kernel of it somewhere. But no… It was us all along. We destroyed the world.”

 

“It isn’t destroyed yet,” Cullen replied. “That’s the point of the Inquisition. We’re going to keep it that way.”

 

“I have no intention of letting Corypheus threaten the world. Not without someone from Tevinter standing against him. It would have been nice if you helped stopped Alexius.”

 

Cullen sighed wearily. “I hoped to,” he replied honestly. “I thought that getting the Templar’s aid would put us in a better position to deal with Alexius, to save the rebel mages, then close the Breach. We ended up uniting the Templars and the mages for the enemy instead.” Cullen’s hand gripped the pommel of his sword. “It was a grave miscalculation.”

 

“Yes, it’s hard to believe you overlooked the Ancient Darkspawn Tevinter Magister contingency in your planning,” Dorian smiled slightly. “If it’s… all the same to you, I’d like to stay and help the Inquisition.”

 

“You?” Cullen asked a little more harshly than he intended. He did not trust Tevinters. “You could be a spy. The Venatori could have sent you here.”

 

“Hm, rather elaborate, don’t you think? But then again, I am the ideal spy,” Dorian smirked. “Charming, clever, perfect teeth and hair-”

 

“Humble,” Cullen added sarcastically.

 

Dorian chuckled. “How about this: let me help and you can hang me later, if you wish.” The curve of Dorian’s mustache twitched. “I look good in rope.”

 

Cullen blinked and felt the air suddenly thicken. He  cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We do need all the help we can get,” he admitted. “If you’re willing to fight your own countrymen to stop Corypheus… and you did come all the way to Haven to help us at the risk of your own life.”

 

“Yes, well, no one will thank me whatever happens. No one will thank you, either. You know that, yes?”

 

“That’s not why I’m doing this.”

 

“I knew there was something clever about you,” Dorian smirked. “All I know is this: Corypheus needs to be stopped. Men like him ruined my homeland. I won’t stand by and let him ruin the world.”

 

So there was conviction in the man, Cullen noted. He wasn’t as air-headed as he sounded. Dorian was turning back to his books, pulling another from the shelf. He idly flipped it open. “Oh and congratulations on that whole leading-the-Inquisition thing, by the way.”

 

Cullen smiled his thanks and turned to leave, heading down the staircase to the rotunda. That was one thing settled. He was sure he was imagining the innuendo Dorian threw at him. For sure. In the centre of the rotunda was a table piled high with books. There were piles of planks and canvas covering the furniture that lined the walls. He wondered what the elf had in mind for this place, but Solas wasn’t around for him to ask. He wandered through the door away from the main hall and found himself out on a bridge that led to a tower on the battlements. The stones of the damaged bridge were still being laid, but the scaffolding was there. In the fading light of dusk, he threaded his way across the scaffolding to the tower beyond.

 

There were lights shining through the tower’s windows and voices from within. He pushed open the door. Evelyn and Ser Laurent looked up at him from where they bent over the desk in the middle of room. A hint of annoyance flashed in Ser Laurent’s eyes, but she saluted anyway.

 

“Inquisitor?” Evelyn blinked. “How did you-” She stood without her armour on, the plate armour resting on an armour stand behind her desk. Her leather tunic was rolled up at the sleeve and open at the throat since the room was warmed by a lit brazier in the corner. Her dark hair spilled over one shoulder in waves that curled against her cheek and caught on her moist lips.

 

“I crossed the scaffolding,” Cullen replied, trying not to stare at the lock on her lip. “It was sturdy enough.”

 

“We’ll discuss this later, Sofia,” Evelyn said to Laurent, her hand on the knight’s arm.

 

Laurent nodded and leaned in to whisper something Evelyn’s ear. Evelyn sighed and pushed her away gently. “Later,” she said simply. “Just get me that update on the armoury.” Sofia bowed to Cullen, moving like every bit the gentleman he was not. “Inquisitor,” she bade him farewell and left through Evelyn’s office door.

 

Cullen wasn’t sure how he felt about that, the pang of… something bitter twisting inside him. Evelyn sighed as the door shut behind Sofia. “I apologize for that,” she said, leaning over the table once more. “Ser Laurent forgets herself sometimes.”

 

Cullen didn’t trust himself to say anything, so he merely joined her at her desk. There was still the darkness under her eyes as she pored over the map of what looked like Skyhold, a compass and ruler beside her. She was clearly charting the map and the surrounds of Skyhold. She caught him looking and smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I know this is a sensitive thing to do, but necessary. Once I have what I need, these will be given to Sister Leliana for safe-keeping.”

 

“Have you been sleeping?” he asked.

 

“I could ask the same of you,” she replied. “Though I suspect that you have not been. Not as well as you should, at least.” She paused, her eyes on the map. “And neither have I.” She handed him a sheaf of reports. “Skyhold is proving a very suitable keep, Inquisitor,” she went on, her voice businesslike. “We have barracks set up in the valleys below; guard rotations and supply lines have been firmly established. Repair work on the battlements are underway as you’ve noticed.”

 

“All that in the week I was gone?” he asked, leafing through the reports.

 

“We’ve been busy,” she replied. “I would have sent reports to you in the field, but I feared our presence on the Storm Coast was not established enough to ensure that the reports would reach you safely. They weren’t urgent anyway, merely progress updates. Cassandra was beside herself when she heard you had made a detour.”

 

“It was necessary,” he sighed. “We need-”

 

“All the help we can get,” Evelyn finished. “I agree. Nothing could have prepared us for that damn dragon. Maybe with some warning we might have…” Her voice trailed off into a silent well of grief. She sighed and shook her head.

 

“Do you have the final tally of those lost?” he asked her, his voice quiet.

 

She nodded. “Most of us made it, thank the Maker. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you’ve taken on the role of Inquisitor.”

 

“You made it sound like I had a choice,” Cullen smiled slightly.

 

“Even if you did, you would have still said yes. That is one of the admirable things about you. Your fortitude, your dedication, your determination to do good,” she replied, her eyes catching his.

 

“You know I left the Order,” he pointed out. “That’s not quite… dedication.”

 

“Staying in the Order after all it’s done, after all that’s happened, is not dedication, Inquisitor. It is blind obedience,” she said, her voice hollow. “I see that now. The Order has changed, as has the world. I was very foolish not to see that in my pride. That pride nearly cost us far too much.” She rested her hands on the table, caught up in her own thoughts. Her eyes trailed to a map open on the table, her fingers touching the name of Haven on the map. “Would you really have buried Haven and everyone there?”

 

He sighed. “At that point, we were going to die,” he said. “It would serve us best to take as many of the enemy with us. So yes, I would have.”

 

“I could not have made that choice,” she said hollowly. “I was too afraid.” She seemed to shrink at that admission, her eyes hidden by her hair. “You should have picked another.”

 

He was quiet, at a loss for words. He had set the foundations for the defence of Haven, which was woefully inadequate as it was; especially against a dragon. If anything, the fault was as much his as it was hers. “None of us were prepared for-”

 

“That does not change anything!” she snapped, her fist striking the table, making the inkwell shudder. She sighed heavily. “And yet it changes everything. You survived the fall of Ferelden’s Circle, you steered Kirkwall out of disaster, you faced an ancient evil and prevailed. Oh, Cullen, if I could only be half the man you are, I would be far more worthy of this post.”

 

“Do you know how much I had to go through to be this man?” he asked her, perhaps more sharply than he intended. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean-”

 

“I cannot begin to imagine what you had to go through,” she replied honestly. “All I know is what I’ve read. And yet… Is it wrong for me to admire you for the man you have become because of your trials? You are like steel shaped by hammer-blows and tempered by flame… You do not know what you are to people.” She smiled slightly at him. “Your humility is endearing.”

 

Cullen stared at her, feeling the heat in his cheeks. That was... unexpected. Hero worship, Varric had said. She had come through her grief to praise him, praise that he did not feel worthy of. He cleared his throat and looked away. He couldn’t help but also realize that that was the first smile she’d had since he came in.

 

She straightened up, seeming to pull herself together, and filled a glass from a stoppered bottle on her desk. “Something to drink?” she asked.

 

“No, thank you,” Cullen replied, finding himself adrift in the conversation. It was clear that she was not dealing well with the loss of Haven.

 

“It’s West Hills Brandy.”

 

He paused. “Maybe one.”

 

Without a smile, she took a clean glass from a sideboard and filled it for him. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time with that foolishness, Inquisitor. May we move on to other matters?”

 

“It’s not foolish to grieve,” he said as he took the cup from her. “I would think less of you if you didn’t.”

 

She sipped the brandy, avoiding his eyes, rifling through the papers on her desk, searching for the one she wanted. “Warden Blackwall has given us Gray Warden treaties. In view of Corypheus being a darkspawn and his dragon possibly being an Archdemon, we are in a good position to utilize these treaties to obtain aid. With your permission, I will approach the nobles in the Bannorn to ask for men, arms and supplies.”

 

“Do it,” he said, watching her thoughtfully.

 

She nodded and sat down at her desk, pulling out another parchment from the many piled there, her other hand still holding the brandy glass. “Another question, if I may. And I am not sure if this is private or not, but… I have here the inventory movement report of our lyrium stores. Every mage’s requisition, every templar’s dose.” Her eyes caught is. “Or lack of.”

 

Cullen stared at her. “I am no longer a templar” he said.

 

“So you have stopped.” Her eyes softened. “For how long?”

 

“Since I left Kirkwall.”

 

“Is what you’re doing safe?”  

 

Cullen sighed. She certainly wasn’t one to mince words with him. “It hasn’t killed me yet.”

 

“It is the ‘yet’ part that worries me,” she said bluntly. “But I did not bring this up to tell you your business. I just needed… to know. If you need anything-”

 

“You should stop as well.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but it came out anyway, from the tip of his thoughts to his tongue. The more the thought settled in, the more it seemed wisest for her.

 

She let out a short laugh. “In addition to my dealing with the loss of Haven, preparing Skyhold and trying to convince myself that I am not an absolute failure, you want me to quit lyrium?”

 

“Why not?” he asked. “I have.”

 

She stared at him, her glass in hand. She slowly set the glass down, shaking her head. “You are you, Cullen,” she said. “I am-”

 

“Not an absolute failure,” he cut in. “I do not believe that you are. I also believe that… while some trials are forced upon us, some are taken up on our own accord because we believe that it is the right thing to do. You said yourself that following the Templar Order was blind obedience. The lyrium is part of that. Can you leave it all behind?”

 

She stared at her glass. “Cullen…” she said weakly. “You ask too much of me.”

 

“No, Evelyn. I think you do not give enough, because you do not know how much you truly have to offer.” His voice was hard. He sipped his brandy and sighed. “Think about it. I’m not here to tell you your business, either. But should you decide to… just know that I believe you can do it.”

 

She didn’t look at him, her eyes fixed on the glass, her mouth a thin tense line.

 

There was a knock on the door from the battlements. “Commander,” said a soldier from beyond. “The barracks are ready for your inspection.”

 

Evelyn sighed softly as she stood, heading to her armour. “Duty calls, Inquisitor. Please excuse me. Give me a minute, Jyme!” she called to the soldier at the door.

 

He drained the glass. “I should take my leave then,” he said, setting the empty glass on her table. He turned to head to the door.

 

“Inquisitor,” she said, in the midst of buckling on her breastplate. Cullen looked at her over his shoulder. She looked even more troubled, and could not hold his gaze. “I… thank you for hearing me out. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”

 

“Don’t mention it, Commander,” he replied and stepped out of her office. He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked past the soldier waiting for Evelyn at the door. It was now nightfall, the stars brilliant points of light in the black velvet of the night sky. Would she stop? He hoped that she would. Victory over yourself weighed far greater than victory over external foes, that much he knew. So far, he had managed to battle his addiction through sheer grit. A blade forged by hammer-blows and tempered by flame? Maker… Was that what people really thought of him?

 

He looked up at the stars. Or was that just her? She had lost the levity she had before. She seemed almost grim now. And what exactly was going on between her and Ser Laurent?

 

Cullen decided that those thoughts were for mulling over later. It was now already nightfall and he had an old friend to meet.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really curious as to who has been reading the story from the beginning. If you have been, do you notice any improvements in my writing? In Evelyn's portrayal? Am I treading too close to the game plot or have I been true to Cullen's personality? The whole point of this story is not just an homage to a character I love, but also to try an improve my skill as a writer. Any constructive feedback you have would be greatly welcome.


	14. The Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Champion of Kirkwall arrives in Skyhold.

Skyhold was quiet from the top of the battlements. Cullen walked, greeting guards along the way, trying not to catch their eyes with their looks of awe. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this, especially with what Evelyn had said. He didn’t know what he was to the people. Truly, he didn’t. He knew it as words but those words had not yet sunken in. But here he was looking for a simpler answer. Hawke, that bastard. He was conflicted about talking to the man, not sure if he wanted to be reminded of the time when he took lyrium and fought for the Templars. And yet, Hawke was someone who knew him not as the Herald of Andraste.

 

He saw a figure leaning against the ramparts. “Varric,” he called out.

 

“Ah, Curly,” Varric said, looking around furtively. “Is the Seeker anywhere?”

 

“I didn’t see her on the way over,” he replied, secretly amused to see Varric so rattled and frankly terrified of Cassandra.

 

“Good,” Varric said, picking up a bottle from the ground beside him. “Come on, Hawke’s already had a few.”

 

“Naturally,” Cullen murmured. He followed Varric into an unused tower, one side of the wall blasted open to overlook the courtyard. Despite the broken wall, Varric shut the door behind them. Cullen shook his head when he saw the candle-lit table and the gruff looking man seated there, the same old beard, the same messy hair, the same pointed,heathen armour, the same scruffy wolf fur - Cullen liked to think his fur looked slightly more regal. Slightly. Hawke’s staff leaned against the wall, and there was a cask open in front of him into which he was dipping a cup in to sip some wine. “Well now!” Hawke grinned when he saw Cullen, spreading his arms like he was welcoming a brother. “If it isn’t my favourite Templar! And may I say that armour is a wise choice! Love the fur, so original.”

 

Cullen couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. “A red lion’s mane has a bit more gravitas than wolf fur, Hawke. And I’m not a Templar any more,” Cullen smiled.

 

Hawke leaned in to Varric as the dwarf pulled up a chair. “Do you think he knows I’m a mage yet?” asked Hawke. “They are not like you and me, you know.”

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen sighed as he sat down opposite Hawke. “I am never going to live that slip of the tongue down, am I?”

 

“No,” Hawke grinned. He dipped another cup into the cask and handed it to Cullen. “Antivan red. Sit with me, Cullen, I want to reminisce of old times before we get down to business.”

 

“Can we just get down to business, instead?” Cullen asked, as he took the cup. He sipped the wine. It was actually rather nice.

 

“So serious,” sighed Hawke. “I guess you’d have to be as Inquisitor. Well, then, Cullen, I’m not sure how I can help you, despite Varric’s insistence.”

 

“You did plenty in Kirkwall,” Cullen pointed out. “You defeated a horde of rampaging Qunari, were in the middle of the fiasco leading to the viscount’s son’s death, various counts of apostacy, harboured a terrorist after he blew up a Chantry, repelled the Templars from the Circle, killed the Knight-”

 

“I get it, I get it,” Hawke held up his hands placatingly. “Andraste’s blood! That’s quite the list of charges.”

 

“I have more I’m not bringing up because the wine is good,” Cullen smiled slightly.

 

Hawke gaped at him. He leaned in to Varric as he eyed Cullen. “Was that a joke?” he asked in a none too subtle whisper. “Are you sure this is the right Cullen?”

 

Cullen gave Hawke a disgusted snort. “Why do I even…” he sighed.

 

Varric laughed. “Trust me, Hawke, this is him,” he said. “Who knew that under that face that looked like he perpetually stepped in dog turd was this weird sense of humour.”

 

“Dog turd?” Hawke blinked, drawing out a pack of cards from his waist pack “I thought that was just the smell of bitterness and oppression in the Gallows.” He grinned at Hawke impishly as he started to shuffle the cards. “Wicked grace, Cullen? In celebration of your new-found sense of humour.”

 

Cullen sighed in frustration as Hawke dealt the cards. “Could we just-”

 

“Just pick up the blasted cards, Cullen,” Hawke chuckled. “It’s easier to talk when you’re relaxed.”

 

“Relaxed while playing Wicked Grace?” Cullen asked. “Against Varric?”

 

“Was that another joke?” Hawke gaped. “So it wasn’t a fluke, after all.”

 

“That is getting sort of old, Hawke,” Cullen glared at him as he picked up the cards. “What do know about Corypheus? Varric says you dealt with him before.”

 

“If by ‘dealt with’ you mean fought and killed, then yes,” Hawke said, arranging his cards in his hand. “He was dead as a doornail, believe me. Fenris stabbed him a few more times just to be sure, and we all know how much Fenris loves stabbing.”

 

Cullen frowned, looking at his cards with unseeing eyes. “Where was Corpypheus?”

 

“In a Warden prison,” Hawke replied. “He was sealed there with some of my Father’s blood. It turns out, they needed more Hawke blood to seal him. In the end, we killed him - or so we thought.” Hawke threw some silvers down on the table. Cullen had no choice but to match the bet. Just to spite Hawke for those terrible jokes, he threw down another two silvers. Hawke smirked at him from under the beard.

 

“It’s odd that you bring up Wardens,” Cullen said. “They’ve all vanished. Every one. From Ferelden to Orlais.” Except Blackwall. It was nice to see one Warden who wasn’t behaving strangely.

 

Hawke’s dark eyes grew serious. “Well, I must say that is odd,” he mused. “And strangely coincidental. Suspiciously so, even.”

 

“You were always astute,” Cullen murmured.

 

“I try,” Hawke tapped his cards on the table. “You don’t get it, Cullen. Corypheus was using his… magic to somehow influence the Wardens. And if they’ve all disappeared, they could have fallen under his control. Just a thought.”

 

Cullen stared at his cards, saying nothing. If Corypheus, a darkspawn, managed to somehow enthrall the Wardens, this would not bode well. “Varric, put down a bet,” Hawke was saying to Varric.

 

“You sure you want me to?” Varric chuckled, seeming to enjoy himself. “Alright, Hawke, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He raised the bet three silvers.

 

“Thankfully, Cullen, there is one Warden who hasn’t gone missing - one I can get my hands on, at least. If Corypheus was bound in a Warden prison, it would only make sense to ask a Warden.”

 

“Fair enough,” Cullen mused, setting his cards down. He dropped another two silvers on the table and sipped his wine. “Where can I find this Warden of yours?”

 

“She was supposed to meet me at a smuggler’s cave near Caer Bronach. She was to wait till the new moon if she could. We could go talk to her.”

 

“We?” Cullen raised an eyebrow.

 

“Of course,” Hawke said. “I’m not having you pick up the pieces of my unfinished business, Cullen. Not like you had to in Kirkwall.”

 

“True,” Cullen looked at him and leaned back in his chair. “You did leave me a lot of trouble to deal with when you left.”

 

“Sorry,” Hawke winced. “I heard that the Divine was sending an Exalted March. I hoped that my leaving would save some lives, make her split her forces, perhaps. Turns out I needn't have bothered. So many Circles were rising up by then. Well, not this time, though. I’m coming with you.”

 

Cullen sighed. “I won’t say no. We’re desperate. We need every pair of hands - yours especially.”

 

“Oh?

 

“They were hunting you, Hawke, but… for a different reason than I thought,” Varric admitted uncomfortably. “They sort of wanted you to be Inquisitor.”

 

“Me?” Hawke exclaimed.

 

“That was the plan,” Cullen said. “But… it didn’t happen that way. And you’re still the one with the least money in the pool.”

 

Hawke watched Cullen and tossed a coin on the table. It landed on its side, rolling across the weathered wood to Cullen, who caught it, his left palm pressing it down on the table top. Hawke’s hand shot out and grabbed Cullen’s wrist to raise his palm.

 

Cullen was startled with the swiftness of Hawke’s movements, and the mark reacted, flaring with spiteful bursts and lighting the room with baleful green light. Cullen pulled his hand away. “Andraste’s blood!” he swore, willing the mark to be silent as he clenched his fist. Almost reluctantly, the mark obeyed.

 

“What in the void is that thing?” Hawke breathed. “I heard rumours but to see it up close is something else entirely.”

 

“You could have just asked,” Cullen snapped.

 

“You would have said no.”

 

Cullen paused. “That’s also true.”

 

“So, you have a magical thing that closes rifts in to the Fade and you think I should have been Inquisitor?”

 

“Closing rifts is not a job requirement for Inquisitor,” Cullen grated.

 

“Possibly, though I think even I were Inquisitor, you’d be Master of Rifts or something. No way you were escaping the Inquisition.”

 

“I wasn’t thinking of escaping."

 

“They call you the Herald, don’t they? Inquisitor must be better than Herald. Job description is more concrete at any rate. ”

 

Cullen sighed. Hawke had a point. Being an active leader was definitely better than being a religious figurehead. At least he had experience in leading. Hawke blinked at him then. “So that magic mark on your hand, does that make you a mag-”

 

“Shut. Up.”

 

“Touchy!” Hawke held up his hands.

 

Cullen did not want to talk about being a mage, that’s for sure. He just wanted to win the game. “Just show your cards already,” Cullen snapped.

 

Hawke threw down his cards. Cullen snorted in disgust and set down his cards. “Hah!” Hawke gloated. “Angels beats serpents, my friend, I knew you were bluffi-”

 

Varric idly reached out and began to gather the money. “You haven’t even shown your cards yet!” Hawke pointed out.

 

Varric set down his cards. “I don’t mean to brag but… four of a kind, Hawke. Sorry Curly.”

 

“Deal again,” Cullen said, knowing that being upset at this was petty but he couldn’t help it. “I’m going to win back my money.”

 

“Ooh, you sure about that, Curly?” Varric asked. “I’m surprised!”

 

“Not as much as me,” Hawke laughed as he gathered the cards to shuffle and deal them again. “But why not? It’s not everyone who can say they beat the Inquisitor at something.”

 

“Don’t rub it in,” Cullen shook his head, smirking despite himself. “Because you’re not going to win.”

 

“I’ll win the fur off your back, Cullen.”

 

“Never, Hawke.”

 

Come the morning, Cullen was glad that Hawke was nice enough to give him his shawl back.

 

++++

 

Cullen sat in the War Room waiting for the others as he pinched the bridge of his nose. His stomach was queasy and his head throbbed, sometimes the world spun and the sunlight made him wince. There was too much Antivan Red the night before. They must have finished the entire cask, he couldn’t really remember. There had been too much wicked grace as well, and Cullen’s purse was a lot lighter. Damn Hawke. And yet… it had been good. Hawke reminded him of a time when things were simpler, clearer. There was less gray in the world, more certainty in him. But that was stripped away with Meredith’s fall, and whatever was left of his certainty, the Breach had taken. Back then, certainty was easy to come by because he allowed himself to be compelled to serve, but the lyrium helped too. It dulled the thoughts, made orders easier to follow, made uncomfortable truths easier to ignore. Lyrium made things simpler. How long had it been…

 

Still, he was Inquisitor now. Hung over, perhaps, but there was work to do. He read through the reports Evelyn had given him the night before as he sipped some warm honeyed water with a slice of ginger. Skyhold was indeed coming along surprisingly fast. Evelyn was pushing herself, he knew. She hadn’t slept properly, he could tell. Why did he tell her to stop lyrium? He frowned, staring unseeing at the report. He knew it focused the mind, he knew it was… helpful. He had stopped to leave everything behind, what gave him the right to tell her to…

 

How long had it been since he’d had a philter? Not since the night he left Kirkwall. It had been so long. He remembered the flow of lyrium down his throat, remembered the honor he had felt when he was given his first draught. He was a Templar now. It had burned. Like fire, he had thought. Like Andraste’s pyre, burning from within.

 

He cast the reports on the table, feeling his head begin to throb painfully, his hand shaking a little as he pressed his fingers to his temple. What was he thinking?

 

The War Room door opened and Evelyn froze at the sight of him. She had forgone her armour once again, her ram fur draped around her shoulders against the cold, though she still carried a sword belted at her waist. “Cul- Inquisitor,” she blinked and glanced at the window. “Am I late?”

 

“No, you’re early,” he replied, glad for the distraction she brought.

 

She cleared her throat. “Well, that’s good,” she said and went to a chair to sit down, her eyes on him. “What’s the matter with you?”

 

“It’s nothing,” he replied, not wanting to tell her about Hawke right then and having to repeat himself for Leliana and Josephine later.

 

“Is it lyrium sickness?”

 

He frowned slightly, feeling a little embarrassed, he gathered the report and shuffled it on the table. “No, it’s- I had too much last night.”

 

She actually smiled at that, her blue eyes lighting with amusement as she leaned back in her chair. “Really? All you had was one cup of brandy,” she said.

 

“I had a few more cups of something else after that,” he blushed slightly, feeling a little annoyed now that he had actually gotten that drunk.

 

“A few more or a few dozen?” she asked, steepling her fingers as she watched him.

 

He chuckled despite himself and glanced at her.

 

“I take it you were with the Champion?” she asked.

 

“How did you-”

 

“Oh, goodness, Inquisitor,” she laughed. “Don’t look so shocked! The guards reported that he entered Skyhold with Varric yesterday.”

 

He smiled faintly. “I suppose you would know,” he said.

 

“That must have been a lot of that ‘something else’, judging by your face.”

 

“What’s wrong with my face?”

 

She blushed slightly. “You’re pale. Paler than usual. I recommend more of whatever it was you were drinking the night before,” she said.

 

Cullen raised a dubious eyebrow at her. “What?”

 

“Naturally. Hair of the dog that bit you, and all that. Manliest thing in the world.”

 

“Maker’s breath, no,” he winced. “Your idea of manliness and mine are very different, Commander. I am going to steer clear of Antivan red for a while now.” And steer clear of wicked grace forever, he added to himself. He’d stick to chess.

 

She tittered. That was an improvement, he noted. Perhaps she had recovered from her melancholy the night before.

 

“I didn’t know you liked Antivan red,” she mused.

 

“It was available,” he admitted.

 

She smiled her first genuine smile he’d seen since they got to Skyhold. “Practical. Slightly cheap of you, but practical,” she tilted her head, a lock of her hair falling against one cheek, brushing her lips. “What do you favour drinking then?”

 

Cullen suddenly had no idea what he liked to drink as he stared that lock touching her lips. “I- uh-” he began. Her words caught up with his brain. “Cheap?” he exclaimed in protest, eyeing her impish smile.

 

There were voices then and Cullen and Evelyn tore their eyes away from each other as the door to the War Room opened, Josephine and Leliana stepping inside, their conversation breaking off. “Were we interrupting?” Leliana asked as she looked at Evelyn and Cullen, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

 

“No,” Cullen and Evelyn said together. Cullen cleared his throat. “We have things to discuss,” he said in as businesslike a voice as possible. His cheeks felt warm, must be from the hangover. Or something.

 

“Indeed,” said Leliana and she and Josephine sat down at the table. “I believe the Champion of Kirkwall has probably shared information with you.”

 

“Does everyone know he’s here?” Cullen asked. He paused as a thought occurred to him. “Damn, I wonder where Varric is.”

 

“I’m sure Cassandra hasn’t found him yet,” Leliana assured him. “He can be hard to find when he wants to be.”

 

“May we move on to speak of this information then?” Josephine asked.

 

Cullen leaned back and sipped his water. “It turns out that Corypheus is a darkspawn magister known to the Wardens,” he reported. “According to Hawke, he fought and killed Corypheus before, quite definitely killed. Knowing Hawke, I’m inclined to believe him when he says he’s killed something. So the mystery is how Corypheus could possibly be alive after that.” He paused. “He also says he knows where we might talk to a Warden about this. She’s waiting to meet him near Caer Bronach.”

 

“She? Then-” Leliana’s eyes widened. “Could it be?”

 

“Maybe,” Cullen murmured. “I… didn’t ask.” He set down the reports. “That means I need to head to Crestwood. Can we establish camps there?”

 

“Of course,” Evelyn replied, crossing her legs. “Although we may need to do something about Caer Bronach. Reports indicate it’s been vacant for years since the Blight. Who knows what might have set up shop there. And who do you suspect you’ll meet when you get there, Inquisitor?”

 

“Probably the only Warden who could stand against any sort of corruption in the ranks,” he murmured. “The Hero of Ferelden.”

 

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “That… would interesting,” she murmured. “I’ll give orders for forward camps to be established before you arrive, Inquisitor.”

 

“I also have news on how we can approach Celene,” Josephine said, her excitement barely contained. “Lady Vivienne arrived yesterday, and she may have the pull needed to get us an invitation to the Winter Palace!”

 

Cullen heard Evelyn gasp, he glanced at her, seeing her cover her mouth gleefully with her gloved hand. “What?” he blinked. “What am I missing?”

 

“The Empress is due to hold peace talks with the Grand Duke to end the Orlesian Civil war. The talks will be held together with a grand ball at Halamshiral,” Josephine explained.

 

“Why would they hold peace talks at a ball?” Cullen asked incredulously.

 

“Orlesians believe that moments of such historic importance and gravity should be accompanied by joyfulness,” Leliana replied.

 

“Orlesian balls count as joyfulness?” Cullen asked drily.

 

“Regardless,” Josephine went on, ignoring that jibe. “If the Inquisition were to attend-”

 

“Why?” Cullen groaned. “Why are we going to this ball? It’s not important and I’m not here to socialize - not with puffed up, self- absorbed, noble-” He realized Josephine and Evelyn were staring at him. “-Orlesians,” he added lamely and coughed awkwardly.

 

“If Corypheus were to strike as Celene,” Leliana said. “The Grand Ball would be the perfect. It would be public and sow the most discord among the nobles of Thedas.”

 

“So send her warnings, like we said,” Cullen tried. “Maybe then we’ll not have to attend.”

 

“We have, Inquisitor,” Josephine said. “But so far, no word from Halamshiral have reached us back. We’re not sure our warnings are being received.”

 

Cullen looked at them with dread in his eyes. “We’re sending a representative there, yes?” he asked, hoping against hope.

 

“You,” Josephine replied.

 

Cullen laughed and then saw her expression. “Blessed Andraste, you’re serious about this,” he groaned.

 

“Do you want to stop the assassination or not?” Evelyn asked bluntly. “If you’re there, you’re in the best position to keep Empress Celene from being killed. If nothing happens, then at least you get to enjoy all the sugar swans and sparkling wine you like. Also frilly little cakes. Petit fours are delicious.”

 

“Petit fours, sugar swans and sparkling wine are poor consolations for playing the Game. I’m not sure I’m ready to partake of the Orlesian national pastime,” he sighed.

 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Evelyn said mildly.

 

“I saw what you did there, Commander.”

 

“Turn your nose up at the Grand Game if you like, Inquisitor,” Leliana said loftily. “But we play for the highest stakes, and to the death. If the Inquisition must be a part of this world, we must learn to play the Game with the best of them.”

 

He raised his hands in resignation. “I see your point. Maker’s breath, you could have picked someone better suited for this.”

 

“That sounds familiar,” Evelyn smiled at him. He winced inwardly. She was struggling, as was he. She looked up to him, didn’t she? Maker, how could he refuse in light of that? He sighed heavily. “Alright, we’ll… prepare for the ball, I suppose,” he sighed, feeling his head throb even more in frustration.

 

“I will put in requisitions for our wardrobe, then,” Josephine said. “And we’ll have to find time to tutor you in court etiquette, dancing, even the most recent political alliances an-”

 

“You do know we also have to find this army of demons, don’t you?” Cullen asked, not realizing that he was sinking in his chair.

 

“The court’s disapproval can hamper the Inquisition’s efforts as much as an army of demons, Inquisitor,” Josephine said sternly.

 

“She’s right, Inquisitor,” Evelyn said to him. “We can’t afford to forget that we’re as much a political entity now as much as we are a military one.” She smiled comfortingly at him. “Don’t worry, at least we’ll have uniforms.”

 

There was an urgent knocking on the door then. “Enter,” Cullen said, grateful for the distraction. A face appeared around the door, a blacksmith from the forge, by the look of him. “Inquisitor,” he said breathlessly. “It’s Seeker Penteghast and Master Tethras - in the forge - come quickly!”

 

Cullen swore inwardly as he stood up. It appeared the other shoe had dropped. “Excuse me.”

 

++++

 

“You conniving little shit!” Cassandra’s voice rang out over the sound of tumbling furniture as Cullen ran up the stairs to the upper levels of the forge. Cassandra had Varric’s collar as she threw a punch at the dwarf. It was only Varric’s quick skill as a rogue that helped him dodge it.

 

Cullen ran and pulled them apart. “That’s enough!” he barked, his voice echoing in the empty forge. The blacksmiths had taken off when the fight began and now milled around outside. He pulled them both apart.

 

“You knew where Hawke was all along!” Cassandra snarled at Varric, even as Cullen held her back.

 

“You’re damned right I did!” Varric shot back. “You kidnapped me - you interrogated me, you think I’d tell you where he was?”

 

“You filthy little-”

 

“That’s enough, Cassandra!” Cullen snapped sharply, bringing to bear the voice he used upon unruly recruits.

 

“You’re taking his side?!” she exclaimed.

 

“I’m taking no one’s side!” Cullen retorted. “But I won’t have you killing each other!”

 

“You know we needed a leader - Varric kept him from us! Hawke had the mages’ respect!”

 

Cullen felt a little stung by that, even though he knew it was the truth. He didn’t garner anything from the mages except suspicion. “The Inquisition has a leader already!” Varric said, gesturing to Cullen.

 

“Hawke would have been at the Conclave!” Cassandra snarled at Varric. “If anyone could have saved Most Holy-”

 

“What’s done is done, Cassandra,” Cullen stopped her. “You can’t change what’s happened!”

 

She looked at him with stricken eyes. “So I must accept… what? That the Maker wanted this to happen? That he, that he-” There was a catch in her voice, her eyes glistening for all of a moment before they hardened to bore into Varric’s face. “Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A snake,” she sneered at the dwarf. “Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept him secret from us.”

 

“He’s with us now, we’re on the same side!” Varric snapped.

 

“Oh, we all know whose side you’re on, Varric. It will never be the Inquisition’s.”

 

“Ripping him in half won’t change anything, Cassandra!” Cullen stood between her and Varric.

 

“Thank you!” Varric threw his hands up in exasperation.

 

“And I hope you’re not keeping anything else from us!” Cullen snapped at Varric. “The last thing I need is for you both to kill each other behind my back!”

 

Varric sighed as he shot Cullen a dark look. “Fine!” he snorted.

 

Cassandra let out a heavy sigh and turned from Varric, leaning on the railing that overlooked the forge below. “He did bring Hawke,” she shook her head. “Late perhaps, but he is with us… as are you.”

 

Varric and Cullen shared a glance. Wordlessly, Cullen jerked his head, telling Varric to leave. “You know what I think?” Varric couldn’t help but say. “If Hawke had been at the Temple, he’d be dead too. You people have done enough to him.” The dwarf stormed off.

 

Cullen groaned silently, his head throbbing painfully, feeling like it was about to split down the middle. “Maker’s breath,” he sighed.

 

“I… believed him,” Cassandra shook her head. “He spun his story for me and I swallowed it. If I’d just explained what was at stake, if I could have made him understand…”

 

“Hawke wouldn’t have come,” Cullen said. “If I know the man and how he thinks, he wouldn’t have trusted us for a second.”

 

She turned to sit down at a chair by the table. “This isn’t about Hawke, or even Varric. I should have been more careful. I should have been smarter!” she leaned her elbows on her knees, hanging her head. “I’m such a fool… I don’t deserve to be here.”

 

“None of us are exactly titans of intellect,” Cullen said, squatting down before her. “Except Solas. And maybe Dorian, but I suspect he’s full of it.”

 

She snorted and looked at him. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked.

 

“More at home, maybe,” Cullen smirked.

 

She couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“That’s better,” Cullen smiled.

 

She drew a deep breath and set a hand on his shoulder. “I want you to know, I have no regrets,” she murmured. “Maybe if we had found Hawke, the Maker would have needed to send you. But he did.”

 

“Such as it is…” Cullen sighed and looked down at the mark. “We will have to see what His plan really is, now that I’ve gotten this… thing.”

 

She stood up and Cullen followed suit. “I have not been fair to you, have I?” she asked. “How are you holding up? With your lyrium especially.”

 

“When I am busy, I don’t notice it,” he admitted. “When I’m not, or annoyed, it comes back. I’ll live.”

 

She smiled at him. “You will,” she said confidently.

 

“You should… talk to Evelyn about quitting as well,” he added, avoiding Cassandra’s eyes.

 

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Has she asked to stop?”

 

“Not… exactly,” Cullen said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just think it would be… best for her. It’s her choice, of course, I’m not forcing the issue, just-”

 

“You should just tell her you like her,” Cassandra folded her arms. “She would probably be pleased to hear it. Maybe some flowers - or a love poem or two. That would be romantic.”

 

“What? When did I even say that I-” Cullen’s face started to burn. “I - that is ridiculous and-and entirely inappropriate!”

 

“You’re acting like a village girl!” Cassandra laughed.

 

“I have things to do,” Cullen said coldly. “Excuse me, Seeker..”

 

He left her there with her laughter hanging in the air. He left the forge, sending the blacksmiths back to work, assuring them that the Seeker was calm. He felt like a school-teacher who had just dealt with rowdy children. He headed across the courtyard to return to the War Room. In the main hall, he came across Varric, sitting at the table he so favoured by a roaring fireplace. Cullen walked up to him silently, his hands resting on the pommel of his sword. Varric turned to look at him. “She’s calmed down,” Cullen told Varric. “You can stop hiding behind Bianca now.”

 

“Define ‘calmed down’ in terms of who or what she’s hitting,” Varric said.

 

Cullen smirked. “She called me a village girl. That’s how calm she is.”

 

Varric snorted and shook his head and stood up to join Cullen. “Look, Inquisitor, I wasn’t trying to keep secrets. I told the Inquisition everything that seemed important at the time.”

 

Cullen shook his head, feeling for the dwarf and the impossible position he was in. He knew Varric long enough to know that he would do anything to protect Hawke. “I know, Varric,” Cullen said. “But you need to be more forthcoming with us now, I don’t think this war will abide secrets, not among ourselves.”

 

Varric sighed heavily. “I know. I can’t help but hope that none of this is real - maybe it’s some bullshit from the Fade and it’ll all… disappear.”

 

“It is bullshit from the Fade,” Cullen said. “But I don’t think it’s going to disappear just like that, Varric.”

 

Varric smiled up weakly at him. “I know I need to do better. I’m sorry, Curly.”

 

Cullen pat Varric on the back with a smile. “Does this mean you’ll give me my money back?”

 

Varric grinned. “You could try to win it off me, maybe I’ll go easy on you.”

 

Cullen sighed mournfully and left the dwarf to head to the War Room and return to the meeting.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your feedback on the previous chapter. It was extremely encouraging. :) Again, please share any thoughts you may have on this newest installment.


	15. The Hero of Ferelden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen meets with the Hero of Ferelden at last, which brings up more unpleasant memories than anything else.

Cullen decided that he hated Crestwood. He squelched through the wet mud, his boots filling with rain as he walked, threatening to make him slip. No matter how hard he tried, the rain washed the beeswax from his hair, making it cling to his forehead uncomfortably. The rain also made his furs soaking cold. He had to leave them behind at camp, lest he freeze in the wet and windy night. He said nothing, however, as he walked the North Road with Cassandra, Varric, Dorian and Hawke.

 

“Fasta vass venhedis,” Dorian grumbled as they walked, pulling his boot out of a sucking puddle of mud.

 

“I’m learning a lot of new Tervinter words today,” Varric said mildly.

 

“I don’t know how things are down there for you, but up here, the weather is horrible.”

 

“We’re almost at the cave,” Hawke assured them as they squelched on through the moonlit night.

 

Cullen paused, seeing the keep of Caer Bronach looming dark in the distance, a black ominous shadow against the stormy sky. “We’ll have to deal with that and the rift in the lake before we go,” he said. “Let’s hurry to this cave, shall we? We should take a moment to get dry. And I think our Tevinter is running out of swear words.”

 

“Festis bae umo canavarum!” Dorian pulled a leech off his leg and flicked it into the bushes.

 

“He should write his own lexicon as part of his travel memoir,” Hawke chuckled. “He could title it, ‘The South is Shit’.”

 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Dorian said. “We’ll have Varric write the foreword.”

 

“You can’t afford me, Sparkles,” Varric grinned.

 

Cassandra sighed. “We’d best walk faster, I don’t know how much more complaining I can take,” she said.

 

“Agreed,” Cullen said, and added plaintively, “my toes are cold, Seeker.”

 

Cassandra cast him a disgusted look and rolled her eyes. Cullen grinned at her.

 

“There.” Hawke pointed to the side of a cliff where an old mine entrance looked hidden from the road. “That’s the cave. We can build a fire inside, just keep it out of sight.”

 

The cave was one of limestone and just as wet on the inside as it was on the outside, but at least it wasn’t raining within. They gathered as much dry wood as they could get, though it was all soggy by the time they lay it in the cave. Dorian drew a glyph around the pile of wood and quickly set it ablaze. The fire, spurred on by the glyph, dried out the wood in a puff of steam and then filled the air with warmth.

 

Dorian and Varric huddled up to the fire. “It would be best if you and I went in, Cullen,” said Hawke. “The others can wait here.”

 

Cullen glanced at him. “Right,” he said, pushing his wet hair from his face. He glanced at Varric and Cassandra. “Don’t do… anything. Just wait here.”

 

“Do not mistake me for a child, Inquisitor,” she said to him. “I am not without reason.”

 

No, you are without patience, Cullen thought, but said nothing. He followed Hawke into the darkness of the cave. After a while, the firelight winked away as they rounded a corner. All Cullen could sense was the sound of water dripping from the limestone stalactites onto the wet floor, which was slippery and treacherous underfoot. There was a breath of fire as Hawke held up his hand, holding a flame that flickered in the air, casting dancing shadows across the walls. “You’re useful to have around,” Cullen noted, eyeing the walls that seemed to close in on him. The tunnel here seemed smaller that it actually was with the stalactites and stalagmites. He kept his eye on Hawke’s flame, trying not to think about the closed space, about how it seemed to wrap around him like the grasp of a demon- He shook his head, pushing the thought from his head.

 

“I’m always useful! Helping people, killing people, setting things on fire, humorous wit - the list goes on.” Hawke held his hand up, leading the way through the dripping cave.

 

“I get the feeling you’d be able to write a thousand word essay if someone just said ‘good morning’ to you.”

 

“Yes, can you imagine the diplomatic meetings? They’d go on for days! You’d get far better mileage with that scowl of yours. Just imagine the nobles are barking mad blood mages and you’re golden.”

 

“That wouldn’t be far off,” Cullen sighed, thinking of Orlais and the ball he was supposed to attend as head of the Inquisition. Maker’s breath...

 

“This is why I like to stay unimportant - less pressure.”

 

“Who’s this Warden we’re meeting? Is it who I think it is?”

 

“I’ll give you a clue, she’s very pretty.”

 

“Just - Just tell me, Maker’s breath!” Cullen snapped.

 

“You’re no fun at all. You’ll see soon enough,” Hawke grinned at him. Cullen began to get even more suspicious.

 

There was firelight now in the cave and Hawke extinguished the flame on his hand. They rounded a bend and came to a boarded up area of the cave, a bandit mark painted on the door. There was a torch in the sconce that filled the area with light. Cullen frowned at the sound of dry dusty rattles, shivering in the air. “What was that?” he asked.

 

“Probably our overly cautious friend,” Hawke said as he walked forward and opened the door. Cullen followed him in. Beyond the door was what seemed to be a hideaway. Tables and bedrolls lined a wall at the back of the cave where it was relatively dry. Bales of hay and sacks of food were stacked in a corner.

 

“This really is a smuggler’s cave,” Cullen noted. Something rattled in the corner. Cullen’s hand reached for the hilt of his sword. In a rush of air, a hand was suddenly placed over it and Cullen looked up into a face he hadn’t seen in over a decade. The same sun-kissed red hair, bound in a braid that fell over a shoulder, the same green eyes that used to catch his heart - that same smirk. This time, instead of the Circle robes, she wore the blue and silver of a Warden’s uniform. “Solona,” he breathed.

 

“Astute as ever,” Hawke grinned.

 

Solona smiled with all the light of the rising sun and embraced him warmly. “Solona-” Cullen blushed to the roots of his hair as he tried to untangle himself from her hug. “We- this is- I mean-”

 

“At least you’re not running away, Cullen,” she teased, letting him go.

 

“Careful, Sol,” Hawke smirked. “He’s a nearly-spoken-for man. And what would his Majesty say if he knew you were hugging other Templars?”

 

Solona laughed brightly. “I’m happy to see you, Cullen,” she beamed, clasping his hands. “Oh, Maker, I was worried about you when I left. I heard you went to Kirkwall and then after everything that happened there...”

 

Cullen was staring at her, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “You don’t know what they’ve done,” his own voice rang in his head. “Kill them all!” He felt a pang of guilt rising inside him. He pulled his hands away from hers. “I… we didn’t part on good terms-” he began.

 

“Oh, poppycock,” Solona waved his words away. “I’ve forgotten it all.”

 

I haven’t, Cullen thought, teetering on the edge of a yawning pit of guilt.

 

“Poppycock?” Hawke was saying.

 

“I don’t know. Ask Alistair, he’s taken to saying it all the time - possibly because of ‘cock’,” Solona was saying, but her voice sounded very far off.

 

Walls closing in, the smell of death, the cloying fingers of the demon as it touched him despite his begging - then there were the eyes watching, so clinical, so calm, watching him as he was ripped apart by shame and pain… It was so hard to breathe-

 

“Cullen?” Hawke shook him by the shoulder. Cullen looked up. “Why are you praying?”

 

“I was?” Cullen blinked.

 

“You were muttering the Chant.”

 

Cullen steadied himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to will away the growing throbbing in his head. “I was… thinking of something,” he muttered lamely.

 

Solona looked at him with softness in her eyes. “It hasn’t gone away, has it?” she asked gently.

 

Cullen did not want to talk about it, least of all with her, after all the things he’d said, after he’d encouraged her to kill her own teacher and fellow mages. The regret was so strong he could practically taste it. “Can we- can we focus, please?” he asked. “Not that it… isn’t nice to see you, Solona, it’s just that time is short.”

 

“Of course,” Solona said, seeming to understand. “You want to know about Corypheus.” She went to a table and sat down on it, her staff idly resting against a wall. She leaned her palms on the table, her green eyes intent. “I’ll cut to the chase. Warden Commander Clarel has possibly lost her mind.”

 

“Step by step for the non-Wardens, please?” Hawke said. “The fact that you don’t like her is one thing but I feel like we missed half the conversation here.”

 

Solona sighed. “Warden Commander Clarel of Orlais has summoned every Warden from the Drakon River to the Hissing Wastes away to an undisclosed location. Even MY Wardens. I hate when people take my stuff.”

 

“An improvement, but-” Hawke said.

 

“What does this have to do with Corypheus,” Cullen interrupted. “And could he have influenced the Wardens?”

 

“When Hawke killed Corypheus the first time, the Wardens thought the matter settled,” Solona said. “But Archdemons don’t die from simple injury, believe me. I began to investigate - I wanted to find a cure for the Calling anyway. That was over a year ago. During that time, I left Ferelden’s Wardens under the command of Clarel, since Alibear was leaving on his own expedition at the same time.”

 

“Alibear?” Hawke groaned. “You just ruined any mystique the King might have had.”

 

Solona smiled. “Slip of the tongue, don’t tell him I said that.”

 

“Did you find out anything useful?” Cullen had to agree that ‘Alibear’ sort of did ruin Alistair’s mystique, even though Cullen remembered the man as the older recruit who got him into trouble all the time.

 

“Unfortunately, no. I found hints, whispers. Something about Corypheus demanded that the Wardens imprison him, not kill him. But why? No one would speak to me, and there were no records in Weisshaupt. Then, the closer I got to home, the more I began to hear it. The Calling, drowning out everything else.”

 

“What is this Calling?” Cullen asked.

 

“It’s the song of the Old Gods, a sign for any Warden that their time is coming to an end, a sign that the taint will soon claim them. Turns out, every Warden is hearing this. Even Alistair, last I checked. It’s driving him crazy at court.”

 

“Every Warden is hearing this?” Cullen frowned. “They all think they’re going to die? Even the ones in Weisshaupt?”

 

“I don’t know,” Solona shook her head. “All contact with Weisshaupt has ceased, I can’t say why. As if that wasn’t enough, I finally did manage to track down Clarel. She called a council meeting and sought me out at the Warden chapter house in Lydes. She fears that every Warden will soon die, since they’re all hearing the Calling. So, she proposed some scheme to pre-empt the Blight. We would seek out the last two remaining Old Gods with an unstoppable army in the Deep Roads. And we would kill them. Let’s use blood magic to summon demons, she says.”

 

“Oh, of course,” Hawke said sarcastically. “Blood magic. Nothing ever goes wrong with that.”

 

“Indeed,” Cullen couldn’t help but agree.

 

“Naturally, I said no. They weren’t so friendly after that. Wardens have been hunting me since I left her base in Orlais. Then she summoned them all and… they’re all gone.”

 

“But you’ve been using your willy, willy ways to evade them, yes?” Hawke said.

 

“We Amells have many things we’re good at. Shooting lightning and being hard to find are certainly among them.”

 

“Yes, I noticed,” Cullen glanced at Hawke. “The Inquisition was searching for you both, not that it matters now.” He frowned. “We will need some proof of this,” he went on seriously. “No offence, but your word alone cannot justify what might possibly call for an all out assault on the Wardens. They are heroes of legend. Even I would hesitate calling for an attack.”

 

“Then proof is what you’ll get,” she said, hopping off the table. “There is a watchtower in the Western Approach. It’s a place where the Veil is thin, where magic is slightly stronger. The Tevinters used it for rituals in the past. Wardens now use it to test new spells.” She turned to the table and unfurled a map, marking a spot in the map with a dagger point. “There. I suspect whatever fool ritual Clarel is planning will most likely be tested there. I’ll head there and stake the place out. Meet me at the tower when you can.” She picked up her staff and handed the rolled up map to Cullen. “Maybe after, we’ll have some drinks and catch up.”

 

He took the map, not knowing what to say outside of the immediate, most pressing business. “Of course,” he replied. He glanced at her uniform and saw something unusual pinned to her robe at the throat. A pewter rose brooch. He smiled at her then. “We’ll meet you there,” he said, feeling pleased that she had found some happiness in her life with the King. “Let us settle some things that need looking into first.”

 

“Of course, Cullen,” she said warmly. She turned to Hawke then and pointed at him with her finger. “Now you owe me a lot of money. If you die or if you let him die, I’m going to up the interest rate by thirty percent. There’s nowhere you can run from the Carta.”

 

“Cousin!” Hawke whined plaintively. He sniffed then and wiped a tear from his eye. “I’m so proud of you. That’s exactly the threat I would have made.”

 

“I mean it, Garret!” She snapped and stepped back, pulling the shadows around herself in a dark cloud. Cullen jumped back then, a black mabari bounding from the smoke and out the door without a glance back.

 

“How did she-” Cullen gaped.

 

“Show off,” Hawke glared at her, his lip pouting in annoyance.

 

Cullen gave him a sidelong glance. “Jealous?”

 

“Can you turn into a dog?”

 

“I am no mage.”

 

“True. That argument sort of fell flat right there.”

 

Cullen shook his head. “Come on, we need to deal with the keep and then stop that rift before there isn’t a soul left in Crestwood.” He tucked the map into his waist pack. “Then, we’ll head into the Approach to find what we can find.”

 

++++

 

Taking the Keep had been hard, but straightforward. It was easier with Hawke so eager to blow down a door and keep count of who had the most kills with Varric. Cullen had the thought that he might be too sane for this job. That maybe the Inquisitor should be someone like Hawke. “Oh, a hostile fortified keep? Let’s kick down the door, it will be fun!”

 

Cullen had opted to send for troops, but Hawke was already blowing up the door with fireballs and Varric’s incendiary shots. Cullen was still extremely annoyed by that. But the dam had been drained and Old Crestwood was revealed at last, smelling like rotten fish and water weeds and death. Now, there was this. Cullen stared into the darkness of the tunnel that led to the cave where the rift responsible for the risen dead was to be found, his heart already hammering in his chest. It was so enclosed. So… tight.

 

Hawke held another fire a loft and was already walking in. Cullen moved to follow, trying to silence the dread that was swelling in him. This tunnel was smaller than the last one. Cassandra, Varric and Dorian came in after them. It was fine. He could do this. This wasn’t a prison just… a tunnel. They’d close the rift and kill everything inside and be out by dawn. Cullen could not turn back now. He had a duty. It helped to think of it like that. He had no choice but to enter the cramped, wet space, walls closing around him, stalactites seeming to reach out to him, grasping with dripping fingers.

 

“This place reeks,” Dorian complained, wiping his face of the water that dripped into him. They were all soaked to the skin from the rain as it was. “So much of the South is so… fragrant.”

 

“What does Tevinter smell like, then?” Hawke asked.

 

“Of lavender and sneering superiority, of course,” Dorian drawled. “It’s especially pleasant in the summer with lust thrown in.”

 

“Lust?” Hawke sounded interested.

 

“It’s warm in the summer. We tend to have sports - pike throws, sword fights, runs, all that rot. We do it naked because the perfection of the human form is a delight unto the Maker.”

 

“Naked?” Hawke blinked. “Really? All the contestants? Even the ladies?”

 

“Especially the ladies!” Dorian laughed. “Many a fair warrior have found a husband through the games.”

 

“That’s a pretty damn good story idea,” Varric said appreciatively as he held Bianca. “I’ll have to remember that one - star crossed lovers, one in the stands, watching the games. The other totally nude, fighting in the arena, sword covered with blood, breasts flashing in the sun, hips-”

 

“Can we please talk about something else?” Cullen grated, blushing at the thought of... naked women fighting. In his mind, the woman warrior had black hair and blue eyes. Damn this infatuation. He idly wondered what she was doing now...

 

“You don’t really need me in the Western Approach, do you, Cullen? I think I’m due for a holiday,” Hawke said.

 

“You volunteered, Hawke. You’re coming with me. That’s an order.”

 

“Oh, Maker, the voice of authority sends shudders down to my bones,” Hawke shivered.

 

“Mine too,” Dorian smirked. “I’m all tingly with excitement listening to him.”

 

“Andraste preserve me!” Cullen groaned as Cassandra made a disgusted noise. Truth be told, he was glad for the constant chatter. It distracted him from the space around him. A gentle glow illuminated their path, a light in the shape of a person floated by. “Maker’s ass!” Varric exclaimed, startled as the figure wisped through Bianca and Cullen’s hip with faint hints of laughter hanging in the air.

 

“It seems friendly,” Hawke said. “Relax, Varric. I won’t let any of the big scary glowing things get you.”

 

“I’m surprised at our leader’s composure,” Dorian said behind Cullen.

 

Cullen didn’t respond. He had actually been too startled to even scream. The spirit had felt like cold fingers grating on his bones like nails on a blackboard. He did not want to feel it again. He made a point to keep an eye out for wisps.

 

Their footsteps led them deeper into the cave along a suspiciously boarded and well-laid path. There were demons here, but they made quick work of them. Further on, Cullen found a dank side cave. He frowned at the dark figures within, just out of sight in the shadows, as Varric, Cassandra and Dorian finished off an undead corpse in the main chamber. Cullen grabbed Hawke’s pauldron and pulled him over. “Yes?” Hawke cooed as he was dragged over.

 

Cullen pointed into the cave with his sword. “Light that,” Cullen said.

 

Hawke held his flame aloft and let it flare, illuminating the skeletons within the cave, huddled together, arms wrapped around each other. There were were chests by the skeletons and the remains of cloth that must have been bed rolls. “Andraste’s mercy,” Hawke breathed. “They were… living here?”

 

“Apparently,” Cullen said grimly. “So they were drowned here.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“The Mayor said that the dam control was broken, but we know that’s a lie.” Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s move on. We’ll interrogate him when we get out of here.”

 

“You know, the thing I hate most about authority is how they think they know best. I would love to hear what excuse he has to give for drowning these people down here like dogs to be put down.”

 

They turned to join the others as Cullen sheathed his sword. The space here was well lit by a hole in the top of the cave. It was much more comfortable than the tight tunnels from before. “Are we nearly down yet?” Dorian asked them.

 

“We still have a ways to go,” Cassandra replied as Cullen stepped onto the old wood path that spiralled down a shaft in the limestone. The wood was treacherous and slippery, Cullen treading his way carefully downwards. He set his foot on a log and heard it groan under his weight. He pulled his leg off immediately, then the sound of wood cracking filled the cave. “Fu-!” Cullen cried out as the logs under him gave way, his fingers slipping as they tried to grip the log in front of him. He saw the light above, almost incandescent to the eyes as he fell back, hitting the lower level of logs and breaking those too as he tumbled down into the darkness, his name echoing in Cassandra’s voice throughout the cave. Cullen landed on his back, his shield and his backplate catching most of the impact. Lights flashed in his eyes as the wind was knocked out of him regardless.  - The vision of Solona naked, bound, his sword raised to deliver the killing blow; how dare she tempt him, they were all blood mages - he had relished that thought in his lowest moment, how could he?

 

Then he blinked, looking up. Just as quickly, the vision was gone, replaced with a yawning pit of self loathing. “Fuck,” Cullen breathed. How could he even have the balls to stand before her and talk to her? Maker, what a fool he was… He rolled onto his side and stood up. He could see the shadowed outlines of the others peering over the remains of the broken spiral path that he had fallen through. “Curly!” Varric was calling.

 

“I’m fine,” he winced as he sat up heavily, groaning.

 

“You need to go a diet, Cullen!” Hawke called.

 

Cullen grit his teeth, really hating the man sometimes. “Just get down here!” he called up. “I didn’t fall far.” He stood up, hearing the others murmuring from above before they started to just jump over the hole and hope for the best. They were luckier than he was, he noted as he watched them get across from below. He waited in the pool of light from above, darkness around him as deep shadows were cast here in the deeper part of the cave. He could barely see where he was, the shadows were like looking into the heart of night. He stepped out of the light to get his night eyes back. He could make out darker shadows against absolute darkness, and nothing else. He looked down at his left hand thoughtfully.

 

“Alright, you,” he said to the mark. “Time to pay some rent.” He held up the mark and shut his eyes, willing it to awaken. It did so easily at his bidding, pulling its life from him as it flared in the dark. Green light lit the walls of the limestone cave, reflecting off the wet walls and revealing a passage beyond. Cullen had managed to fall all the way down to the bottom. The mark seemed to be weirdly happy, flickering almost joyfully on his hand. Was that him doing that or was the mark… He eyed it as it flared, like a puppy let out to play. “Don’t get too used to this,” he snapped and took a step forward into the darkness, illuminated by the light of the mark. There were shades here, playing in the deep, floating among the stalactites and stalagmites. They seemed to giggle their ghostly laughter and float around him curiously, but staying out of reach of him and the mark. He tried to ignore them. They made him uncomfortable. Still, he noted that the Anchor heeded him more readily these days, and reacted less to his emotions.

 

There was a glow from up ahead, like the gentle light of the hearth, but stilled and steady. Cullen looked at the mark. “Stop,” he said and it flickered out gently. Solas had repeatedly told him that he didn’t actually have to talk to it, but Cullen found that the words helped. And the mark had… behaved. “Thank you?” he added, feeling a little foolish but… The mark was not a part of him, just a hanger-on, or so he liked to think. He shook his hand, feeling silly. What was the decorum for using a magic mark anyway?

 

He turned a corner and saw the tunnel change, no longer stalactites and stalagmites confining and choking, but opening up into a wide passage of dwarvish construction. It led to more ruins in the rock, where the dripping water had brought more limestone with it to shroud the legacy of the dwarves. He heard the growl from beyond and felt the sting in the mark. Demons. He drew his sword and kept behind the wall, watching as another creature brought a fiery glow to the tunnel beyond. It came lurching from one side of the tunnel to another, a towering creature of magma made living.

 

A rage demon, Cullen recognized. Either the mark was reacting to this demon or the rift must be nearby. The silly thing was becoming more and more useful. As silently as he could, Cullen drew his shield and waited for the others to join him. Once this demon was taken care off, the rift could be closed and then he could move on to more important matters - like getting out of this Maker-forsaken hole, arresting that mayor and meeting Solona in the Approach.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed now. I'm trying to balance character development and main story quest... we'll see how well I do :P


	16. Judgement in Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finds out the role of Inquisitor apparently comes with a throne, which comes with a few other things as well.

The sound was thunderous - breaking shards of fade rock, clapping bursts from the rift in the cavern echoed even before they entered the chamber that it had appeared in. Cullen and his party  cautiously crept towards the entrance of the chamber in the lower level of the dwarf ruins. He peered around the door, baleful green light illuminating his face, dancing on his sword. The rift was in the middle of a huge chamber, the broken roof held aloft by four massive pillars, shrouded in limestone. The rift itself was bigger than the rest he had encountered, green light and fire flowing from its core to the hole in the ceiling. This rift was the reason behind all the undead plagueing Crestwood, and it was surrounded by demons.

“Shall we?” Hawke asked excitedly over Cullen’s shoulder, his staff held low and ready.

“If you rush in there on your own again, Maker help me, I will kill you myself, Hawke,” Cullen grated, his mark stinging like blazes in the presence of the rift.

“Ah, that’s the old Cullen I know and love,” Hawke grinned. “It worked at the keep.”

“You nearly got brained at the Keep,” Cullen snapped. “I’m the Inquisitor here. There are a lot of demons there. I could at least a dozen.”

“Yeah, maybe not rushing in is a good Idea, Hawke,” Varric said. “Just saying.”

Cullen pulled back from the door and whispered to the others. “The rift is in the middle of the chamber and the demons are ambling around in there,” he said. “Cassandra and I will take point and draw their attention. We need them to cluster around the rift - as many of them as possible. Varric, I’ll need you with me in the middle - use your hooks to pull as many of them towards us as possible, Cass and I will cover you.”

“Alright, it’s been a while since I’ve done something incredibly risky anyway,” Varric said, rolling up his sleeve to ready his chain-shot gauntlet.

“You were counting heads with Hawke at the keep, weren’t you?” Dorian asked.

“Focus,” Cullen snapped. “Dorian, how many undead can you summon at a time safely?”

“Safely summon undead?” Dorian snorted.

“You know what I mean!”

“Three, Inquisitor, three. No need to get testy.”

“Summon them. Hawke, you’ll need to cover Varric, Cassandra and I with barriers. I’ll need ice walls to herd as many of the demons to the rift as possible. You and Dorian are not to engage any of them. I cannot stress this enough - do not engage them!”

“Because I absolutely came here to not fight demons at all,” Hawke said, sounding a little displeased.

“When I signal you, Hawke, I need you to raise the strongest barriers you can over Varric and Cass. Keep them from moving.”

“What are you planning to do with a cluster of demons in the middle of the room?” Cassandra asked him.

“It’s hard to explain,” Cullen frowned. “I’m going to use the mark. It worked before. If it all goes wahooney-shaped, I’ll give the signal to fall back and cluster at the door. We’ll funnel them in and take them down one by one, hopefully.”

Hawke stared at him. “Wahooney?”

“Let’s just go!” Cullen snapped, annoyance in his voice. He took up his sword with Cassandra behind him, her eyes tight with excitement as they ran through the chamber’s entrance.

He charged in and sure enough, the demons saw him and Cassandra. They attacked immediately, tall spindly Terror demons fading into the ground as blasts of cold struck Cullen and Cassandra, but the cold brushed off his shoulders as he felt the familiar fire in his blood - he hadn’t used up all his lyrium, and he could still turn a spell like that. He charged to a wisp and cut it down, the creature screaming shrilly and disappearing into the rift. Cassandra was felling her own demons, but the despair demons were flying everywhere.

A terror demon burst from the ground in front of him. Cullen ducked the first strike he had come to predict and turned the second swipe with his shield. He slashed the demon behind the knee, sinking it to the ground as Cassandra drove her sword into its face. A burst of cold hit him and Cullen winced, ice forming on his shield as he blocked the spell. A chain shot overhead and stabbed the despair demon in the neck. Varric pulled it towards him and fired off a bolt into its shoulder, pinning it to a limestone column.

The demons were clustering around him as they reached the centre of the chamber. Rattling bones charged a terror demon running for Cassandra. Three skeletons pinned it down as it flailed wildly. Blasts of ice burst overhead but were ceased when Varric shot his chain at another despair demon, pulling it close and pinning it to a wall. A shade was crawling through the rift above him. Cullen blocked the shade’s strike at Varric and knocked it into the Fade with his shield. There was no time for finesse here. “Cassandra!” Cullen called, seeing her swarmed by demons. But nothing stopped Cassandra. She screamed with all the fury of the storm and sliced a demon in half, running to the middle of the room as the other chased her.

They were all gathering at the rift. “Hawke!” Cullen shouted. Cassandra and Varric were suddenly bound in a spell shield that froze them in their tracks. Cullen raised his left hand and let the mark burst with abandon. It flared with unbridled joy from his hand, striking the rift. Fade rock shattered apart as the Anchor caught the rift and pulled it inwards on itself. Cullen winced as a shard cut his cheek, but he held still. “Do the thing!” he snapped at the mark and then the rift changed. It flared green and turned in on itself, pulling the demons into it with an inexorable tide, with a power that would not be denied. Cullen braced himself under the mark. It pulled at his robes and shield, but did not pick him up. Demons were picked off the ground and pulled upwards into the air as they clawed to hold on, grasping at the shielded forms of Cassandra and Varric. A claw caught his backplate, but Cullen ignored it. The demons pinned to the walls were torn apart as they were ripped from their binds.

Then with a final baleful burst, the rift exploded. Cullen’s arm was thrown free when the connection was broken, knocking him off balance. He fell back painfully. “Argh,” he said, his arm burning from palm to shoulder, but the burn was like the warmth of a hot bath, almost comforting. He winced and sat up as Cassandra and Varric were freed from their shield. “What did you do?” Cassandra demanded, helping him up.

“I don’t know, ask Solas,” Cullen replied honestly. He wiped the blood from his cheek. “Is everyone alright?” he asked.

“That was unexpected, Cullen,” Hawke grinned as he waded through the water to join them. “Not just that your plan worked, but that you actually manipulated the rift by talking to your magic hand.”

“Did you just magic the rift?” Varric asked in shock, shouldering Bianca.

“No,” Cullen replied immediately. Then he frowned. “Maybe? I don’t know. I just know that it does this thing - ever since Haven. But I’ve never used it till now.”

“It appears the Anchor does allow you to control rifts,” Dorian mused as he joined them. “Not just close them, but manipulate their flow - pulling in instead of pushing out. And maybe even opening new ones entirely…”

“Not that I’ll be doing that any time soon,” Cullen said.

“Still, you know this is exactly what Corypheus wanted - to open rifts. I’d advise you to be careful. The last thing I want is a romp in the Fade.”

“That’s the Maker’s own truth.”

++++

They rode back to Skyhold through the better part of the next day and night with Crestwood undead-free and in need of a Mayor who had vanished into the night. Cullen was tired, but all in all he felt that the expedition went well. Now to prepare to meet Solona in the Western Approach though he wasn’t looking forward to it. It was actually a relatively pleasant day in the mountains. It was cold, but not freezing. The air was still but pleasant. He quite enjoyed it despite the three-way conversation ahead of him between Hawke, Varric and Dorian. He listened idly as their well-travelled road took them by one of the barracks set up in the valley.

“They never stop, do they?” Cassandra asked, looking at the three men talking.

“Asking them to stop talking would be like trying to command the tides to cease,” Cullen smiled.

“But it is pleasant. In a way.”

He glanced at Cassandra. “Not angry with Varric any longer?”

“Of course I am, but I know how to be civil.”

“Of course.”

“You’re using your Talking-to-a-Seeker voice, Cullen.”

“Am I? Well, you are a Seeker.” His eyes drifted to the barracks, where wooden palisade walls were slowly being replaced with stone by workmen. There was the familiar sound of the morning drills carried to his ears. He missed morning drills. It was a part of his life for years, and now he had the luxury of waking up after the sun rose. Not that he did, but now he had the option.

“Do you wish you were still Commander?” Cassandra asked, astutely.

“There is no hiding anything from you, is there, Cassandra.”

“Like you said, I am a Seeker.”

Cullen chuckled. “Indeed, you are. I do miss it, sometimes. It was simpler.”

“Do you miss our new Commander?” Cassandra asked him with a sidelong glance.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen blushed, looking irritated. “You need to- to stop encouraging foolishness.”

“So you do miss her?”

“Stop it.”

“What is wrong with answering yes? Unless you have your eye on another.”

“I am not here to-- fraternize, Cassandra,” he muttered. “I’m the Inquisitor, she is my advisor. It would not be appropriate!”

“And would you like my advice on the matter?”

“No.”

“I think you should stop worrying about what is appropriate. These are dark days, and we all know how quickly our lives can come to an end and we are called to the Maker’s side. Why should you not be happy?”

Cullen eyed the camp, almost fearing that Evelyn would appear at the gates. “Because I don’t think she fancies me, not really,” he admitted and immediately felt foolish for even talking about this. “Ugh. She has this idea in her head about me. I don’t think I am that man. It would be leading her on, it’s not right.”

“Have you given her the chance to find out for herself?”

“It’s ridiculous, Cassandra, I have bigger things to worry about than my own- my own, er, status.” Or Evelyn’s, he thought to himself. Evelyn and Laurent were very close, or had he been imagining it? He didn’t want to find out that they were. And he didn’t want to see her find out that he wasn’t whatever it was she imagined. It was just an infatuation. Stupid. Did he even have time in his life for this? Yes, said a part of himself he had neglected for the better part of a decade, the part that was younger, that yearned for simpler things before it was drowned out by lyrium and suffering and duty. Yes, it said, was a little happiness too much to ask for?

And yet it was. It was terrifying to ask for, Cullen mused.

Cassandra merely smiled at him and he caught her amused look. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? In some odd cathartic way, you’re enjoying watching me flounder about,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Thankfully, you are far more confident in your role as Inquisitor than you are approaching the Commander,” she said.

He glowered at her. Still, he wasn’t all that annoyed by her prodding. Not truly. There was one person in this whole keep he could trust to look out for his best interest, and it was her. At least she wasn’t asking about-

“How are you with your lyrium sickness?” she asked then.

Cullen sighed. “I’m not experiencing any, thank the Maker. Just the usual headaches and shakes. It’s fine. You don’t have to keep checking up on me.”

She ignored that.

“What about you and the Champion then?” Cullen asked.

“Excuse me?” Cassandra exclaimed. “I do not have any inclination for-”

“Why not? He’s not spoken for.”

She stared at him. “How do you know that?”

“Because he’s the sort who would brag about it,” Cullen shrugged. Was that a slight hint of hope in her voice?

“That is foolish! And it would not even work. He is not the sort, even if Varric’s tales ring true. Not to mention-”

“You mean the book you’ve read six times already?” Cullen asked mildly. “The one you sigh about?”

It was her turn to glare at Cullen and punched him in the shoulder. If Cullen had not been expecting it and bracing for it, he’d have been knocked off his horse. “I see what you’re doing, Cullen,” she said coldly. “This conversation is over.” She spurred her horse forward as Cullen tried not to grin at the sight of her cheeks turning rosy.

They climbed the path that led to the watch tower at the gates. Upon entering Skyhold, they parted, Cassandra not speaking to Cullen, or to Hawke.

“Is the Seeker upset?” Hawke asked Cullen curiously.

“Maybe,” Cullen smiled. “I’ll talk to her later. And you. You’re not leaving Skyhold till this business is settled.”

“No worries there. I’m going to the Rest with Varric. The bar girl is rather pretty, and I’ve yet to drink that qunari under the table. My honor must be avenged!”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “As long as you stay put, drink yourself away.” He paused. “NOT on my tab - Flissa had a word with me before we left. Cut it out and buy your own drinks.”

Hawke merely laughed and headed off to the tavern with Varric. “Inquisitor,” Dorian ambled over to him.

“Dorian,” Cullen said politely. He wasn’t sure he trusted the Tervinter fully, but Dorian had proven helpful in the field. “Pleased to be back to the slightly less malodorous confines of Skyhold?”

“That was a big word you used, Inquisitor,” Dorian smirked. “Are you trying to impress me with your vocabulary? It’s working.”

“I- I know words, alright?” Cullen retorted. “Maker’s breath!”

“Clearly! I wonder what other words you know! Perhaps you could regale me with your witty tongue over chess?”

Was that an invitation for a date or something? Then again, Cullen did enjoy chess. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t usually like to beat new allies.”

“Oh, those are fighting words where I’m from, Inquisitor. Seek me out when you are free. I would love to see Southerners try to put me in my place. Also, you should get that mark checked - just in case. You never know what might happen the next time you wield it as deliberately as you did.”

Dorian winked at him and walked off. Cullen turned stiffly away from the conversation, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Half the time he didn’t know if Dorian were being serious or not. Not that he was even inclined to men in the way Dorian seemed to be signalling.

He happened to glance up at the battlements, a flash of light catching his eye. Evelyn was walking along the rampart, her broadsword resting flat on her shoulder, glinting in the morning light. She must have been training at the stocks, because she wasn’t wearing her padded tunic, merely a banded undershirt that bound her breasts. She was sweating and unashamed as she strode. She caught his eye as she walked and Cullen felt his cheeks catch fire as he realized he had been staring like some lecher. Still, she smiled at him, even as a messenger ran up to hand her a report. With her eyes on the report, she stepped out of view into her office.

“Cullen!” he heard. Cullen turned to Josephine standing next to him.

“Sorry!” he blurted, not sure what he was apologising for exactly. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was - I mean, I just-”

Josephine waved away his apology, her eyes intent on the clipboard. “We need you in the main hall, Inquisitor,” she said. “The throne has arrived.”

Cullen stared at her. “What. Throne.”

The throne was huge. And red. And had an eye on it. And blades sticking out of it. It sat in the centre of the main hall, which was already close to being completely refurbished with drapes and scaffolding already up. There it was. His throne, apparently. This was utterly ridiculous... “Impressive, is it not?” Josephine breathed as she stood beside him. “Meant to show influence - and the burden of it.”

“It’s something…” Cullen managed. “Why do I have a throne, Josephine? This wasn’t discussed.”

“It is where the Inquisition will sit in judgement,” she replied. “Where you will sit in judgement.”

“Maker…” He ran his hand over his face. “And I’ll be judging…”

“Those who have done wrong. You will know of them, at the very least.” She marked something on her clipboard. “All this presumes they have survived their initial encounter with you, of course.”

“Thank you, Josephine,” Cullen droned. It was a grim responsibility, but one that was, while disturbing, was not entirely unexpected. “I thought I wouldn’t have to kill anything in Skyhold at least.”

“It needn’t end in bloodshed, Inquisitor,” she smiled at him. “For some, even an act of mercy can be a greater punishment.”

“That’s an interesting point, Ambassador,” Cullen raised an eyebrow. “A little cold-blooded from you, though.”

“It is the way things are. The Inquisition’s sovereignty is derived from the allies who validate it. You are both empowered and bound. Justice has many tools. If their application is clever, execution may even seem merciful by comparison.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed as he remembered Envy and the massacre at Therinfal. “I can think of one bastard to judge,” he muttered coldly.

“We have a couple.”

“We do?”

“Perhaps a bath would be wise, Inquisitor. And a change of clothes? Perhaps not the fur-”

“I’d like for some things to be non-negotiable,” he smiled at her. “Unfortunately, the fur is one of them.”

Josephine tried not to sigh. Cullen was proud of her effort. “Very well then. Your chambers are also ready. You needn’t sleep in the tower any more.”

“You’ve been very busy,” Cullen noted.

“Naturally, Inquisitor,” she said, shooing him away. “We will hold court in three hours time. Plenty of time for you to rest and have a good meal. After which, we will have to discuss Halamshiral as well.”

“I am at your disposal, Lady Montiliyet,” he sighed softly.

++++

To get to his quarters, Cullen took a side door directly beside the throne, which he thought was convenient save for the fact that he had a throne. That was disconcerting. Still, the stairway was in need of some repair, but he didn’t mind the clutter piled against the walls. There were templar standards handing in the stairway, probably to be kept out of sight and, knowing Josephine, it was an apt place to hang them up. He sighed and walked past the standards and opened the door to his quarters. Within was a stairway of what appeared to Cullen to be very fine granite. Towering stained glass windows let in streams of light that illuminated the dust motes in the air. Cullen climbed the stair and stared at his appointments.

The room was larger than any he had ever had in his life. A four-poster bed dominated the room, a couch by a low bookshelf was against a low stone wall overlooking the stairway. Cullen knew that bookshelf would soon be overflowing. There were more bookshelves behind a desk in the corner and Josephine, bless her heart, had a training dummy right in his room beside a weapon and armour rack. He could have hugged her.

He walked to the bed and was tempted to sit on it, but didn’t because he probably smelled of horse. He went to the balcony instead and looked out. Thank the Maker that the room was big and airy and not at all confining. He could see the whole of Skyhold from one balcony. There was Cassandra training at the stocks by the forge, he could see the Rest where Hawke and Varric were probably getting drunk before noon. And the valley beyond was… breathtaking. He drew a deep breath and relished the moment. It was beautiful. Too beautiful. And… it was his. His mind shied away from the thought. Maker, there was so much work to do, he didn’t have time to stand around in idle fancy.

His eyes drifted to Evelyn’s office tower as he leaned his elbows on the veranda of the balcony. What made her so interesting anyway? Besides the fact that she was attractive, which was a given. She liked the same things he did - they both seemed to enjoy military books and novels and… trebuchets. Okay, what was stupid, how were you supposed to bond with a woman over trebuchets, anyway? What else? She was determined despite her fears, that was certain. He wasn’t sure that she’d stopped working with all the progress that was going on with Skyhold’s repairs and the fortification of the barracks. He frowned, remembering what she had said to him in her office that night… “If I could only be half the man you are…” That was it. What he really found interesting was the fact that for some reason, she seemed to think he was this… good person. A person she wanted to be like, to emulate. That she saw in him something worthy to thinking of him that way. He sighed. She was wrong, of course. There was nothing in him that was not put there by circumstance or duty. But he couldn’t bear for her to find out.

There was a polite tap on the door and he turned away. There was so much to do. No idle fancy, he reminded himself. “Enter,” he called. Servants brought up an empty bath and set it before his lit fireplace. One stood beside it as others carried buckets of hot water to fill the bath. Cullen watched awkwardly. He had never had servants before. “I could have just gone to the bath house,” he said.

“Oh, no, Inquisitor, this is my duty,” said the servant by the bath.

“To bring up bath water?”

“No, ser. To bathe you, ser.”

Cullen was proud of the way he held his temper. He was proud of how he politely but very firmly ushered all the servants out. The day he would be bathed by someone else- Maker’s breath! He would have to have a talk with Josephine about this. Servants to bathe him, indeed!

He cleaned himself and put on clean clothes under his armour. He was happy to at least get his hair in order again. That was the trouble with being on the road, his hair went crazy. Food was brought up for him as well, set on the table for him to dine. Cullen was truly not used to being waited on hand and foot. Because he had time, he ate and he read reports and brushed up on the latest ballistae engineering. It was math. He was actually good at that. The moment he picked up his quill and began calculating trajectories, he got himself wrapped up in his own little bubble of numbers and load capacities and angles that he secretly delighted in. It was why he loved trebuchets. Besides the fact that they were huge and destructive. They were simple, sort of.

Another knock on his door roused him from the pretty numbers. Another servant? “Yes?”

“Inquisitor,” he heard Josephine’s voice as she climbed the stairs.

He smiled up at her. “Josephine, we’re alone, do you need to call me Inquisitor even now?”

She chuckled. “I suppose not. It’s becoming a habit.”

Cullen sighed.

“I take it the room is to your liking?”

“What’s not to like?” he asked, shuffling the papers on his desk. “It’s larger than the house I grew up in. And after ten years of living in Templar dormitories, it’s like I’m sleeping in a palace now.”

“Castle, certainly,” she smiled.

“And I don’t think I need people to bathe me, Josephine,” he added.

“Ah, Leliana was right. That is standard of hospitality that we offer our noble guests. I thought you would want no less. I should have known.”

“I am still me.”

“Not really,” she sighed sympathetically. “You’re a little more than just Cullen now. Certain things should be done to reflect that. Liveried servants are one of them - at least within Skyhold.”

“It’s not necessary,” he said firmly. “I have enough to deal with without someone insisting his job is to wash my back.”

Josephine chuckled. “Well, you’re going to enjoy the hospitality of Halamshiral then.”

“Andraste preserve me, Josie,” he groaned. “You’re not making this any easier.”

“You’ll be absolutely dashing in your uniform though!”

He leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at her.

“The cakes will be nice?” she tried. “That at least I can guarantee you. But we must hurry, Inquisitor. The nobles have gathered and the men are ready for your judgement.”

They walked down to the main hall. “Anything I should know about those I’m judging?” Cullen asked Josephine as they walked.

“One is known to you,” she replied. “The other is a surprise. I would prefer not to speak of those awaiting your judgement without them to present their defence. The Inquisition must be viewed as fair and just in all its dealings.” She glanced at him. “A some nobles have since come to Skyhold. You may feel… pressured. Don’t be too obviously aware of them. They are merely observers, many of them patrons of our cause.”

“I feel slightly more pressured now,” he sighed. “Let’s get this over with.” He opened the door to the main hall and saw that there were indeed some nobles milling around. They fell silent when he emerged from his chamber, his face stern as he walked to the throne. Evelyn and Leliana stood close to the entrance of the undercroft. Most of those he’d gathered to Skyhold were present as well. He could see Solas watching from the back, and Lady Vivienne was seated in her mezzanine chambers with Dorian. Varric was in the hall as always, with Hawke this time. Cassandra, Blackwall and Bull were in attendance as well. The only one who wasn’t there was Sera, he suspected because she couldn’t give two shits about nobles and judgements, and Cole, who probably was but unseen as usual.

Two guards flanked the throne. He knew what they were there for - for the look of it and in case anyone tried to attack him with sword or barbed remark, supposedly. He sat down on the throne. It didn’t feel too uncomfortable, even though the eye poked him in the back of the head a bit - probably some irony in there somewhere. Eye-rony? Maker, he was spending too much time with Hawke.

Josephine stood before the throne. She cleared her throat as two guards dragged a third figure between them. The sight of Mother Giselle flashed in his mind, the vision of Envy, of himself seated as the Black Divine. He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, and pushed the vision from his mind. If justice was applied correctly, even execution was a mercy. He would not be the creature Envy envisioned him to be. Never. “This was a surprise,” Josephine was saying. The man was manacled at the wrist and Cullen remembered what that felt like. He was pushed to stand before Cullen’s throne. His body painted white as was common of the Avvar, ram horns adorning his hood. He had a beard to rival Blackwall’s. “Upon your departure to Crestwood, we discovered this man attacking. The building. With a… goat.”

“What.” Cullen stared at her.

Josephine had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “This is Chief Movran the Under. He feels slighted by the killing of his Avvar tribesmen. Who repeatedly attacked you first.”

“Ah, this would be the Avvar who abducted Inquisition troops in the Fallow Mire,” Cullen leaned back. “The one who tried to brain me with a hammer.” It was a nice hammer, though, Cullen mused. He’d given it to Bull. “So you answered the killing of your tribesmen with… a goat.”

Chief Movran laughed as he looked around at all the masked and painted nobles. “A courtroom? Unnecessary. You killed my idiot son, and I answered, as is my custom, by smacking your holdings with goat’s blood!”

Cullen’s puzzled eyes turned to Josephine. “Don’t look at me,” she said helplessly.

“No foul, Inquisitor!” said Movran almost cheerfully. “He meant to murder Tevinters, but got feisty with your Inquisition. A redheaded mother guarantees a brat!” He chuckled heartily, as if this were all a wonderful joke. “Do as you’ve earned, Inquisitor. My clan yields. My remaining boys have brains still in their heads.”

Cullen was utterly confused, but he knew that the abduction of Inquisition soldiers could not go unpunished. Still, the ones who did wrong were already dead, by Cullen’s hand. Chief Movran didn’t even seem to think he was doing anything wrong to begin with. He was merely acting according to his strange custom. He pressed two fingers to his temple. “It would appear that our conflict was accidental, Chief Movran, but it cannot be repeated. I hereby exile you and your clan - with as much arms and armour as you can carry - to Tevinter. Whatever you do there is between you and the Maker.”

Movran’s laughter echoed in the hall as the murmurs spread among the nobles and companions. Cullen had this to look forward to, did he? A running commentary from the nobles in the hall? Perfect. But Movran was pleased. “My idiot boy for us something after all! It shall be as you say, Inquisitor! Your Maker will be pleased.”

Movran was escorted out of the hall as another was dragged through the main doors. Josephine stepped aside as Evelyn came forward. “Inquisitor,” she said, her armour gleaming in the sunlight that poured through the massive windows behind him. “The next to be presented for judgement is Knight-Captain Denham. He is guilty of serving the Lord Seeker at Therinfal Redoubt.” Her blue eyes hardened. “I knew some of the knights who died there. I asked to oversee his trial.”

Denham was pushed before Cullen’s throne. “When was his last dose?” Cullen asked. “I hope he’s lucid enough for this.”

Denham looked up with hateful eyes. “I only did as I was told!” he spat.

“Denham knew the dangers of red lyrium, Inquisitor. He murdered the Knight-Vigilant and corrupted his brothers and sisters,” Evelyn said. “Orders given or not, there were protocols for new lyrium and he ignored them all to follow the Lord Seeker’s commands.”

“You would have done the same - both of you - if you hadn’t abandoned the Order!” Denham retorted. “What have you both done? I served faithfully! It went red after what the Lord Seeker told me to do!” He struggled against his manacles and the guards restrained him. “I don’t accept this farce of justice! I did nothing wrong! I was following orders!”

“Knight-Captains first and foremost are stewards,” Evelyn snapped. “We serve to watch over our mage and templar charges alike - we are not soldiers who blindly follow orders when we serve a greater good!”

Denham spat on the ground. “You don’t deserve to speak to me! Knight-Commander Markham remembered you to me - you of all people should shut up about honour, you slut!” Cullen saw Evelyn shut down, her face growing still as her eyes glittered with rage. Cullen wanted to hit the man. For what happened in Therinfal, for the deaths of so many he’d known and trained, Cullen hated the sight of Denham. “I demand a trial by combat!” Denham struggled against the soldiers holding him.

Evelyn looked at Cullen, her eyes eager, her cheeks mottled with rage.

“We are not here to accede to your demands, Denham,” Cullen snapped. Neither are we here to have my Commander cut your foolish head off, he added in the privacy of his head. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee as he pointedly ignored Evelyn’s disappointed glare. “Historically, the Seekers of Therinfal Redoubt had a specific punishment for officers who failed their charges,” Cullen said. “For betraying the knights under your command, you are barred from any city outside the Sea of Ash. Maker have mercy on you, Denham, for you will find none here.” He waved the man away.

“Lost in that wasteland! No!” Denham screamed as he was dragged from the hall by the guards. All around him, the murmurs were rolling like a rising breeze. Cullen just wanted to get out of there. “There is a power you cannot deny in the world! This is pointless! I’ve survived too long! The other officers were to blame!”

“Are there any others?” Cullen asked, his face grim as the the fate of Denham and the thoughts of Therinfal weighed heavily on him.

“No, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, watching him carefully. “Not at this time.”

Cullen stood up. “Then the advisors should adjourn to the War Room.” He stood from the throne, making his way to the antechamber, followed by Josephine, Evelyn and Leliana. Once the door to the main hall was shut, Cullen said, “You have something to say to me, Commander?”

“Oh, I do, Inquisitor,” Evelyn said, her voice tight. “But it can wait.”

“Good.” He pushed the door to the War Room open. “We have work to do in the Western Approach. And to prepare for this Halamshiral malarkey as well.”

++++

The meeting was long and dragged on into the night, Cullen wasn’t happy with the fact that a stupid ball would require so much preparation - not just with the uniforms, which Leliana was positively entranced with, but with the whole fiasco of politics and dancing. Josephine had begun to school him on etiquette, most of which he knew and the rest of which he thought frivolous. Never pick up a champagne glass with five fingers? Maker, really? Once she pulled out the chart of noble alliances, he adjourned the meeting for dinner at that point. He headed up to his room and heard the door to main hall open and shut. Then there was that. He waited at his door. Sure enough, there Evelyn came.

“Inquisitor,” she said cooly. “I thought we could talk.”

“About?” Cullen asked, gesturing for her to follow him.

“About that wastrel Denham,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “Trial by combat is a perfectly legal judicial duel-”

He climbed the stairs to his room. “You just wanted to cut his head off,” he said, unbuckling his bracers.

“So what if I did?” Evelyn retorted, following him up the stairs.

“I’m not going to have my Commander dueling people in the dirt,” he replied, crossing the room to set his bracers on the armour stand.

“Banishment to the Sea of Ash?” she breathed. “After everything he did! He should have died! And Samson is still out there!”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “For Denham to constant live in fear? You think death is easier?” he asked, unbuckling the other bracer.

“It would have been more certain,” she snarled. “He nearly killed Laurent! And he nearly killed you! People do find happiness. He doesn’t deserve it!”

Cullen set down the bracer. “Happiness is not as easy as you think,” he said. “And for someone like Denham, it’s even harder with no one giving him orders. What would you have me to? Change my mind?”

She grit her teeth and looked away. “No,” she said finally.

He started to undo the buckles on his breastplate. “You are just angry and needed to vent then?”

She glared at him. “I think I’ve just wasted more of your time-”

“I was angry too,” Cullen admitted, his fingers pulling awkwardly at the buckle, which had taken this moment to stick fast. “When I was at Therinfal, Denham was not the only danger. Envy was there as well, and his disguise was perfect.” His fingers shook slightly at the memory of the demon’s visions in his mind, how he’d nearly broken. “There was a time when I would have followed orders just like he did.”

“But you didn’t,” she murmured. Her hand hesitantly slipped under his. She quickly undid his buckle for him and pulled her hand away, not looking at him. “You turned against Meredith come the finish.”

“How do you know all these things about me?” he asked finally.

She blushed rosily. “I don’t want to say,” she muttered.

“Evelyn!”

She held her elbow. “It’s really stupid.” She looked away. “It’s - you know in the ladies’ barracks. Women talk.”

Cullen began to feel a sense of trepidation. “...And?”

“W-we sort of… We sort of talk about the Knight-Captains. Share information, t-that sort of thing. Y-you were quite the favourite.”

Cullen’s eyebrow went up. Still, the curiosity was horrifying strong. “I was what?”

She smiled weakly at him. “A lot of the girls liked your broody angry look. It’s stupid, I told you. It’s just… silly young girl rubbish,” she lowered her eyes and chuckled, her cheeks glowing. “It seems like long, long time ago.”

Cullen shook his head, his cheeks burning. “Maker’s breath, that is so-- inappropriate!” he sputtered, looking down to unbuckle the other side of his breastplate, his fingers fumbling. He was quiet for a moment. “What information?”

“That you turned on Meredith for a just cause, were too shy to go into the Blooming Rose, like biscuits and hate dancing?” She smiled and bit her lip, trying not to laugh as she watched him.

“Was there nothing else for the knights to do?” Cullen grumbled, his fingers feeling like sausages.

“There were dirty trading cards too.”

He nearly dropped the breastplate when the buckle sprang free.

Evelyn laughed playfully and went to hold the plate. “I’m joking!” she said. “I’m joking! Honest! There were no trading cards.”

Cullen snorted as he slipped out of the breastplate. “That was cruel,” he smiled, shaking his head. “Maker’s breath… I guess I should not be all that surprised. I was not expecting such idle rumours to spread all the way to Ostwick.” He reached for the other buckle, undoing it with greater ease.

“You know we had training modules all around the Free Marches,” she said, setting his breastplate on the armour stand. “And we don’t talk Templar all the time.”

Cullen chuckled despite himself, his cheeks feeling warm.

“The rest of the information is sort of… well, there is a new module in the last couple of years for Officer training. We had case studies. Kinloch Hold was one case study we had to, er, study.” Her words seemed to tumble over each other.

“You know that’s all… rumour and hear-say,” he said, feeling his heart beating faster.

“I don’t know.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and uncertain. “I’d like to… maybe, find out?”

He caught her eyes, feeling excited and terrified all at the same time. He cleared his throat as she seemed to be waiting expectantly. “You must be hungry,” he muttered.

She smiled at him. “I am.”

“You should-- get something to eat then.”

She stared at him. Cullen felt the awkwardness bloom between them. She ran her hand through her hair, pulling the dark waves over one shoulder. “Well, I… I guess I should,” she said, looking away. “I have lots of work to do anyway, for the Western Approach camps and such.” She cleared her throat. “Good evening, then, Inquisitor. It was… thank you for setting my mind at ease.” With a look of puzzlement, she turned and headed down the stairs.

Cullen stared, watching her go. Wait, that wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Wasn’t she supposed to stay? It was only after the door shut that his words caught up with his brain. “Maker’s breath!” he exclaimed, pressing the heels of his palms to his forehead as he winced at his own stupidity. What was the matter with him? He moved to go after her, but then he heard the second door to the main hall shutting.

His head thumped on the armour rack. He decided to go to the Rest for his meal - might as well. This was a night to get drunk, maybe then he could forget that he was an absolute bumbling idiot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing dorky fail at flirting Cullen was too beautiful. Thoughts? Share them in the comments!


	17. Blood and Tears in the Western Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen faces a new idiot in the Western Approach.

“Hey, Sera. The next time we see a line of enemies, I pick you up and throw you,” Bull was saying.

 

“Get off!” Sera snorted.

 

Cullen glanced over his shoulder at the two, squinting against the sun and the winds of the Western Approach. It was hot. Too hot. But somehow, everyone he brought with him kept talking. If it wasn’t Dorian and Bull… frankly flirting, it was Bull and Sera. At least the sand wasn’t getting in his furs. He’d left those back at camp. It was too hot for them, and he was sure he was going to absolutely burn in this heat. How could they talk so much? Weren’t they thirsty? They had just taken another keep, after all. You’d think they’d take a breather.

 

“No, this could work!” Bull said earnestly. “I loft you over the front ranks, you land behind them to flank, mayhem ensues!”

 

“I can’t fly, ya daft tit!”

 

“Think of the mayhem, Sera! ...Mayhem…”

 

“I’d get a wedge up something fierce!”

 

“Look, you and Varric are the only ones small enough and he’s pretty dense.”

 

“Well, excuse me,” Varric snorted beside Cullen.

 

“You don’t even need to land behind them,” Cullen added. “You could just fire from the air, can’t you?”

 

“You wot?”

 

“Can’t you? How many arrows can you have in the air at once?” Cullen said. “You don’t want to get behind because you’re just as liable to hit us in the crossfire, so shooting from the air would be a better bet.”

 

“You really want to encourage this, Curly?” Varric asked.

 

“It could work,” Cullen shrugged. “If she can fire off in the air.”

 

“What? You challenging me, Inquisitor?”

 

Cullen chuckled. “No, no I wasn’t.”

 

“Cos I can, you know!”

 

“I know, I know.”

 

“So we’re trying this?” Bull asked excitedly.

 

“I ain’t promisin’,” Sera said quickly.

 

Cullen glanced at the only person walking silently. Blackwall followed beside him, his eyes troubled. “Alright, Warden?” Cullen asked quietly.

 

“I am. Thank you for asking, Inquisitor,” Blackwall said. “And for… agreeing to my request to bring me here.”

 

“I don’t see why you should not know the fate of your order first hand,” Cullen said, thinking of the Templars.

 

“I-- yes,” Blackwall muttered and fell into troubled silence. Cullen left him to his thoughts, stopping to peer out over the dunes, his hand shading his eyes.

 

“You’re as red as a prune,” Varric chuckled.

 

“Thank you, Varric,” Cullen grated.

 

“If you’d like, I have this excellent elfroot cream I could pass you later,” Dorian volunteered.

 

“Really?” Cullen said distracted. “Why do you have Elfroot cream?”

 

“For my elbows. They get terribly dry.”

 

“Maker, that’s actually a thing you worry about?” Cullen laughed. Travelling with the people he’d gathered was not a terrible thing. They were reliable in a fight and it was never dull. “Right. I think I see the tower Solona mentioned.”

 

“We’re really meeting the Hero of Ferelden?” Sera asked excitedly. “I hear she’s pretty, with big ditties.”

 

“She’s practically married to the King, Sera,” Bull pointed out.

 

“So? No harm in just lookin’. Are her baps big?”

 

“We are not talking about anyone’s anything,” Cullen said stiffly. “Let’s hurry up.”

 

They approached what looked like a rocky outcrop before the tower precariously perched on the edge of a cliff. Cullen heard what sounded like a horrible bird whistle. He tried not to roll his eyes as he made his way to the rocky outcrop. Sure enough, he saw Hawke waving him over. “What bird was that exactly?” Cullen asked as he and the others crouched behind the cover of the rocky outcrop.

 

“It was the City-Boy’s-Best-Attempt sparrow,” Hawke replied, making Sera snort. “She’s already there at the tower, and are some really strange looking Gray Wardens. What’s your plan, Inquisitor?”

 

Cullen looked at the open sand flats before the tower’s entrance. “No point in hiding,” he said as he stood up. “They’ll see us. Let’s just-”

 

“Crash their party!” Sera hollered, raising her bow over her head.

 

“You may want to let the adults talk before you shoot everyone in the face, Buttercup,” Varric said mildly.

 

“Urgh! Shut it, Weirdie!” she snapped.

 

Cullen stood up and walked around the rock with Hawke beside him. They approached the tower where figures were moving among bursts of spells. A crow watched them with one baleful eye from the archway as they approached the entrance of the tower. Cullen stared at it. Sure enough, it seemed to shudder and warp as the shadows were pulled over it. Solona dropped down onto the sand as Sera swore behind him. “Nice of you to join us,” she said seriously to Cullen and Hawke.

 

“I’d like to walk into a room and find you human, one day,” Hawke drawled.

 

Solona turned to the tower, her green eyes hard and intent. “The Wardens are already within. We’ll need to stop them,” she said. “Can you smell it?”

 

“Fragrant isn’t it?” Hawke noted mildly.

 

“Blood magic,” Cullen said. He drew his sword, holding it low and ready. “I’ll take point. Sol and Hawke cover me. Bull, Blackwall and Dorian bring up the rear. Sera and Varric can flank us.”

 

“Solid formation, Boss,” Bull approved. They started across the bridge that led to the tower hanging off the side of the cliff.

 

“The Veil is wobbly here,” Sera cooed in a mystical voice.

 

“I would have gone for spicy,” Bull quipped.

 

“Really? Senses… sense-y…”

 

“Andraste’s mercy, be serious, you both,” Cullen sighed.

 

“The Veil is thin here,” Dorian said. “Thin enough that even our dear Sera could notice.”

 

That was true. Even Cullen could feel the strangeness in the air. The mark was beginning to twinge on his palm. “No- please!” they heard from the top of the tower as they climbed the steps.

 

“Warden-Commander Clarel’s orders were clear,” another voice drawled. Hawke and Solona drew their staves warily.

 

“This is wrong!” the first voice pleaded.

 

“Remember your oath,” sighed the second, weary with irritation. “In war, victory. In peace, vigilence, in death-”

 

A gurgle erupted as they reached the top of the stairs. “Sacrifice.” A Warden slumped to the ground in the middle of the tower, his blood spiralling in the air into a spell woven by a made Warden. There were other mage Wardens stood watching as the spell was fueled by the blood of their brother. Beside each of them was a docile shade. Cullen froze at the top of the steps as a gust of fire burst forth from the spell, a rage demon clawing its way out of the orb of blood. It roared and charged the summoning mage.

 

“Bind them like I taught you,” said that familiar voice. The mage raised his hand, magic bursting from it almost reminiscent of the mark, but fueled by blood. The rage demon screamed and slumped before the mage, struggling but compelled to obey. Cullen looked up at the higher platform of the tower’s top. A man stood there, donned in white ornate robes with blood metal pauldrons. He raised his hand, magic wavering around his palm.

 

Cullen walked forward, leading his party. The man turned to Cullen, his mustache and goatee twisting into a smirk. “Inquisitor, what an unexpected surprise!” he drawled. He bowed floridly. “Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.”

 

“You are no Warden,” Solona growled.

 

“But you are,” Erimond sighed. “The one Clarel let slip.”

 

“Were you really not expecting me?” Cullen asked, drawing his shield.

 

“No, not really,” Erimond smirked. “I wasn’t expecting you so quickly. But, alas, this meddlesome Warden has gone and sought you out to come and stop me. Shall we see how that goes?”

 

“You’re very confident in the Wardens’ loyalty to you, Tevinter,” Cullen snapped.

 

Erimond laughed. “Naturally. Wardens, who here finds this Inquisitor tiresome? Hands up?” As he raised his hand, Cullen felt the flow of magic ebbing from Erimond. To a man, every Warden raised their hand. He swore inwardly.

 

“So they’re his thralls,” Hawke snorted. “Of course. What could possibly go wrong from learning blood magic from a man with that face? Look at it, so trustworthy.”

 

“Oho, but I merely offered them some… consultation,” Erimond chuckled. “The Wardens were terrified, you see, thanks to the Calling. They looked everywhere for help.”

 

“Including Tevinter,” Cullen growled. “You made them do this?”

 

Erimond laughed at that. “Made them? No! The Wardens did it of their own free will! They were very afraid of the Calling, you see. And since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared to render all assitance to the heroic and illustrious Wardens.” Erimond bowed.

 

“That’s a lie!” Blackwall cried. “The Wardens are heroes! They would never do this of their own free will!”

 

“Would never?” Erimond blinked. “All they care about is stopping the Blight. One would think you’d know.” He chuckled. “You should have seen Clarel agonize over the decision. Burdens of Command, I suppose.”

 

“You bastard,” Solona spat viciously, her staff sparking. “She sacrificed her own brothers and sisters for your fucking Corypheus - that streak of piss!”

 

“It’s people like you who reinforce this villainous cliche everyone expects us to be,” Dorian snapped.

 

“Oh, spare me,” Erimond drawled. “All I offered was an army. An unstoppable army of demons. And she couldn’t wait to get her hands bloody.”

 

“So that answers one mystery,” Cullen frowned. “You manipulated the Wardens into building an army of demons for Corypheus.”

 

Erimond smirked. Cullen was getting sick of that smirk. His sword hand twitched. “Just so,” Erimond said. “Sadly for the Wardens, the Binding Ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They’re now my master’s slaves.”

 

“You want this?” Cullen demanded. “You want the world swallowed by Corypheus and the Blight? What do you get out of this?”

 

“The Elder one commands the Blight, he is not commanded by it. It is simply a tool,” Erimond purred.

 

“Someone’s certainly a tool,” Varric growled.

 

“And as for me: while the Elder One rules from the Golden City, we, the Venatori, will be his God-Kings here in the world.”

 

Cullen sighed. “Just once, I would like to leave Skyhold and not meet anyone abysmally insane,” he snapped. “But that will make putting you down easier.”

 

Something flashed in Erimond’s eyes, a hint of fear. “Oh, please,” he sneered. He stretched out his hand that flashed with red. Cullen felt the mark ripped open, jolted awake and flashing green right through his glove. He dropped his sword, gritting his teeth and gripping his wrist as pain speared up his arm from the mark.

 

“Cullen!” Hawke shouted, but it sounded so far off as Cullen sank to his knees in agony.

 

“That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master,” Erimond snarled. “Thanks to you, he’s been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade.”

 

Cullen hated that damn face and that damn voice. He pushed away Solona’s hand on his shoulder. Spurred on by red hot anger, he gripped the hilt of his sword and forced himself to his feet. He stretched out his marked hand to Erimond, his eyes flashing as the mark flared anew, pulling life from within him.

 

“When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be-”

 

“Shut him up,” Cullen growled at the mark.

 

The mark burst violently, tearing away from the connection to Erimond’s magic and throwing the man back against the wall of the tower. Erimond groaned and looked up as Cullen started marching towards him, his sword flashing at his side in the desert sunlight. “Kill them!” Erimond screamed and got to his feet, fleeing from Cullen. Cullen moved to chase him but a shade reared up and blocked his path. He ducked back from the claw swipe and deflected a second strike with his shield as he gave ground. He grit his teeth, seeing Erimond vanish into the desert winds.

 

He heard the roar of flames. He ducked behind his shield as fire was shot at him from the fists of the rage demons, all around him the sound of battle erupting. Flames flared over his shield as he crouched behind it, then he saw another mage firing spells at the others. He turned his shield and his body flashed with familiar power pouring into the shield, deflecting the spell at the mage. The mage screamed as he caught on fire and ran in pain, falling off the cliff, his scream ending with horrible silence. Cullen charged the rage demon, his shield up against the relentless fire, and cut into it with his sword. It was like cutting into magma and bronto sinew. The heat was amazing. He pulled his sword from the demon’s side and felt a strike barely miss his head as he dodged it. He parried another claw strike with his shield, which was beginning to glow red. His blade seared into the demon’s body, drops of magma hissing on the stones of the tower.

 

The demon froze suddenly, ice wrapping itself around the demon’s body like a shroud. Cullen’s shield smashed into the demon hard, the ice shattering as the creature’s head came off. The shade attacked him again from the side, but it was tackled by a massive black spider that made Cullen’s skin crawl to look at. A mage was firing on Varric, pinning the dwarf into a corner. Cullen charged the Warden mage from behind. The mage turned to see him, his spells turning to fire on Cullen. They all bounced into the stones, blocked by his shield and the ebbing flow of power from his years of Templar training. With Cullen’s inexorable charge, the mage tried to run. A crossbow bolt pinned his foot to the floor. The mage’s scream ended with a hiss as Cullen’s searing hot sword stabbed through flesh and armour alike. He pulled the sword from the mage’s body with the sickening smell of burning flesh.

 

Spells were coming from above, mages had found high ground at the back of the tower, firing off bolts and fireballs from their perch. Cullen was pinned as he blocked with his shield. “Heads up, piss face!” he heard and a shadow flew overhead, a figure framed by the blinding sun as he looked up. Arrows whizzed through the air and the spells abruptly ceased. The mages staggered and fell to the ground, two arrows in each of their faces.

 

Sera landed beside Cullen. He stared at her in surprise, his shield pinging with the heat and his sword glowing hot. “FOUR!” she shouted, waving four fingers in his face as he tried to hold the heated sword and shield away from her to keep from hurting her.

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed.

 

“You said I couldn’t! I could! Four! You saw it!”

 

“Alright, Sera,” Cullen said, standing up. “That was incredible.”

 

“Move like that needs a name, yeah?” she grinned up at him, but Cullen was already looking across the desert sands in the direction Erimond had fled.

 

“Excuse me, Sera,” he said and went to Hawke and Solona, who was now, thankfully human.

 

“What’s off in that direction?” Cullen asked, pointing with his sword, still pinging from the heat.

 

“Sand, phoenix shit and Adamant,” Solona frowned, wiping the blood from her hands with a rag. “If that’s where they are, it’s going to be difficult to pry them out.”

 

“I’ll need intelligence on that fortress,” Cullen said. “Can I-”

 

“You don’t even need to ask,” Solona snarled. “That bastard has turned the Warden mages into slaves to the Blight.”

 

“And the Warden warriors?” Cullen asked.

 

A silence fell over them as the truth sank in. “Of course,” Hawke said darkly. “It’s not blood magic without someone to sacrifice, is it?”

 

“They are terrified,” Solona said.

 

“Those mages killed their fellow Wardens,” Cullen snapped. “Nothing can justify that!”

 

“I don’t care about justifications,” Hawke cut in. “It’s past time to take arms against the Wardens and stop this madness!”

 

“They had their reasons, Garret,” Solona retorted.

 

“All blood mages do! Everyone has some story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions, but the fact of the matter is they’re using blood magic!”

 

“Wardens can!”

 

“That does not mean they should!”

 

“At the expense of their warriors?” Cullen asked, more sharply than he intended.

 

“I am not defending their actions,” Solona said. “But you know that Wardens will do anything to stop the Blight! As I have!”

 

“Including summoning demons?” Hawke demanded.

 

“Stop the blight by any means necessary, Hawke!”

 

“By any means necessary,” Hawke spat. “That’s what Quentin said too!”

 

“Maker, stop!” Cullen’s voice echoed around the tower, swept away by the wind and the blasting sun. He ran his hand over his face. “Stop, this is getting us nowhere.”

 

Solona took a deep breath as Hawke avoided her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Whether they were right or not is… immaterial. Now we need to get information and stop this demon army at all costs. I’ll head to Adamant to gather whatever intelligence I can find. I’ll be in touch with you, Inquisitor. Garret, I... need you with me as well.”

 

Hawke looked at her and his eyes softened. He nodded. “You’re my cousin, can I say no?” he said finally. He turned to Cullen then. “We’ll meet you back in Skyhold, Inquisitor.”

 

“Maker watch over you,” Cullen said automatically. He felt a slight pang at watching the two of them go. “Don’t get killed, both of you. I mean it. Hawke, you still owe me for whatever you put on my tab at the Rest.”

 

Solona chuckled. “Garret you are so cheap,” she shook her head. She smiled at Cullen then. “Take care. I mean it too. We’ll be back when we know more. Let’s not go into this battle blind.”

 

Cullen sighed and turned away as Hawke and Solona left the tower, heading out after Erimond. There were corpses piled by the side of the tower. Cullen knew that Erimond’s experimentation had claimed others here. He turned his eyes away from the dead Wardens and glanced at Blackwall. The man looked even more troubled than before, his eyes staring at the dead around him. Cullen put his hand on Blackwall’s shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Warden,” he said firmly. “Whatever it is afflicts your fellow Wardens, I’m happy you at least are spared.”

 

Blackwall did not meet his eyes. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

 

++++

 

“Vishante kaffas!” Dorian snapped by the fire back at camp, grabbing the cup from Bull. It was chilly here, but overhead, the stars shone down like gimlets from the blue-black swathe of night. “Stop drinking from my cup!”

 

“Hey, you want me to refill it, there’s a price,” Bull said as the cup was pulled from his huge hand.

 

“Well, I’m not asking you to fill anything again!”

 

“Oh, I won’t fill your… cup,” Bull smirked at Dorian, leaning his arm on the cask of mead beside him.

 

Cullen snorted into his own cup. Dorian sighed. “I’m terribly disappointed with your sense of humour, Inquisitor,” he said.

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cullen smiled, not looking at him as he sipped his own mead. It was cold now and Cullen was glad for his furs. “I just thought of something funny.”

 

Varric chuckled. “It would make a good story.”

 

“Varric, to you, everything does,” Cullen said.

 

“That’s the mark of a true storyteller!” Varric spread his arms. “Er, in all humility, that is.”

 

“Humility?” Cullen asked.

 

“Figure of speech,” Varric chuckled.

 

From the other side of the campfire, Blackwall and Sera burst into laughter as they sat drinking together, their faces red. Cullen realized if any of them did not die from being sucked into the Fade, chances were, they would probably drink themselves to the grave. Cullen stood up then, setting his empty cup down in the sand and stood up, heading out of the firelight. He found a discreet spot outside of camp, hidden by the rocks. He undid his breeches and looked ahead with  a serious expression, making a calm study of the rock in front of him. Business done, he laced his breeches back up.

 

“It’s not all that’s been taken.”

 

Cullen jumped back and stared up. “Cole?” he exclaimed, seeing the boy perched on the rocks up above, watching him with those wide eyes. Cullen pulled his hand away from the hilt of his sword. “What are you-”

 

“I came to help,” Cole said, his gaze earnest.

 

“You-” Cullen froze, feeling the heat rising from his chest. “Were you watching me the whole time?”

 

Cole looked perplexed. “You… want me to say ‘no’ but that would not be true. I can say it if it helps.”

 

Cullen sighed, shaking his head. “Nevermind,” he said. “Why are you here, Cole? I don’t remember asking you to join us.” He paused. “And why are you sitting up there?”

 

“She waits, worries, wonders, willing away the pain. Does he have all he needs? Will he come back? He likes biscuits,” Cole said cryptically. “I caught up to put the biscuits in the ration crates because they forgot this time. And then I just followed you. You were busy, fearful, how can I face her after everything? Does it all even matter now? You didn’t see me.”

 

Cullen stared at him, his face the very image of perplexity.

 

“And I sit here because it is pretty.”

 

Curiosity piqued, Cullen looked at the rocks. It was better than trying to puzzle out whatever Cole had said. “Over here,” Cole said, pointing to a cleft between the massive stones. Cullen climbed up, his sword catching on the rock clumsily. Right, rock-climbing was not his thing, apparently. He pulled himself up to the top. It was a flat area on the rock where Cole was seated, leaning back against a higher formation. Cullen could see out over the camp, but he was certainly hidden from their view by the slant of the rock at the campward side. He looked around, seeing the vast expanse of the desert stretching out all around him beneath a brilliant star lit sky. He smiled at the view. There was beauty in the Maker’s world. He looked up at the swathe of stars, rising like a speckled rainbow across the dome of the sky.

 

“Softer, sharper, the world is sweeter when you’re stilled,” Cole murmured.

 

“I almost understood that,” Cullen said with a smile.

 

“But you’re still afraid of me,” Cole said.

 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s…”

 

“It’s alright. They hurt you, feared you, tried to make you break. Can Cole be trusted? What is it - demon or spirit? Do I even want to know?”

 

Cullen sighed. It was impossible to hide anything from the boy. Thankfully, hardly anyone understood him anyway. “Something like that,” he admitted. Cole looked up at him with those eyes. It was like kicking a puppy. But he was still wary, so he sat down opposite Cole instead of next to him, crossing his legs with his sword beside him.

 

Cole’s face was hidden by the rim of his huge hat. “Kindness,” he murmured.

 

Cullen smiled weakly. Silence fell between them. Cullen felt extremely awkward, though Cole just seem to play with the grains of sand on the rock. Cullen cleared his throat. “How are you settling in, Cole? Has anyone been unkind to you?” he asked to fill the air.

 

“Yes,” Cole replied. “But they don’t remember. I help in Skyhold.”

 

“You’ve… not made friends?”

 

“Varric is quiet inside. He pulls me more to here. Makes me a person. Calls me “Kid.” A friend. Solas, bright and sad, observes and accepts. Spirit self, seeing the soul, Solas, but somehow sorrows.”

 

“You are a master of alliteration.”

 

“What is that?”

 

“Nothing,” Cullen smiled. “No one else?”

 

“They see me. They want me to be, some more than others.”

 

Cullen tilted his head slightly. “But you didn’t let me see you. Not till just this moment.”

 

“The pain is still there, still wary, still uncertain. It would have hurt less if you didn’t see me.”

 

Cullen felt ashamed of himself. Cole had done nothing to him, he’d only ever aided him, brought him out of the grasp of Envy. ‘It will… keep hurting if I don’t,” Cullen tried, never having to put words to this feeling before. “I have to learn a great deal and quickly. I have to learn not to fear magic, as hard as that is, or people will die. I have to learn how to endure nobles and their politics, or people will die. Maker, I even have to learn how to dance, or-”

 

“People will die?”

 

Cullen laughed. “No, I was going to say ‘people will laugh at me,” he smiled. “I might as well learn to… about you.”

 

“If it helps.’

 

“It… might,” Cullen said. “We’ll start by you not hiding from me, perhaps? If you happen to be around me, that is. It would help.” Cullen idly rubbed his mark.

 

“It helps. It sings.”

 

“Yes,” Cullen said, then Cole’s words caught up with him. “What?”

 

“The Anchor. It sings. It helps you, quiets the yearning, the pain, a new song for the old.”

 

Cullen frowned. “You mean lyrium?”

 

“Yes. Templars are changed. Their bodies are incomplete now. Lyrium helps, but your bodies always want to connect to… something older. Bigger than they are. It’s why you block magic. You reach for that other thing, and magic has no room to come in. But for you, the mark sings above it all and your body doesn’t reach. It has what it needs, it’s calm. Like when I listen to Varric.”

 

“You’re saying the mark is controlling the lyrium sickness?” Cullen asked.

 

“I am?” Cole asked. “The mark is helping you. You trust it more and it helps.” He played with his fingers. “But it is different. It is not a need. It is a part of you now.”

 

Cullen looked down at the mark. It started to glow under his scrutiny, but the fire was gentle, like a playful bird in his palm. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. On one hand, he was pleased that the thing was helping, on the other, he feared what this help might cost him, what it would mean. “A part of me I can’t change,” Cullen sighed. He closed his hand.

 

“Yes. But there are other parts you can.” Cole turned his eyes to him, deep and searching. Cullen felt oddly naked. “She’s not angry, you know,” Cole murmured. “She knows. She yearned once and saw you fall. She blamed herself but healing has come. She prays for you, hope and healing and happiness for you. She wishes love for you, because it helped her heal.”

 

Cullen felt his heart catch in his throat. “Who?” he asked, though he felt he knew.

 

“Eyes green and hair like summer sun, like poppies in the glade full of birds. The mage. She forgave. She wishes you could do the same.”

 

Cullen lowered his eyes and sighed heavily. Was it true? Did she wish that for him? He ran his hand through his hair and covered his mouth as he let out a wavering sigh, the hurt falling free. She forgave him. Years and years he had carried the weight. She forgave him, and he… believed it. Though he couldn’t say how he knew, or what he was even doing up here all alone. He shut his eyes, feeling the tears come, the… pearl of pain shaking loose. At last.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta-ed. Slowly but surely, we claw our way to Adamant and the fun therein. There's so much more character moments post-Haven, it's hard to pick the right ones to fit in. Share your thoughts in the comments :)


	18. Dance Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen decides that he might like dancing after all.

Skyhold was abuzz with preparations for Halamshiral when Cullen returned. Josephine met him at the gates and practically swept him away from the others and straight into the War Room. The debrief was quick, since Cullen had little information besides the fact that the Wardens might be a new and dangerous threat. Leliana promised to pick up the trail, while Evelyn, looking slightly pale, was already in the midst of mobilizing with the aid of noble allies. Then, just as quickly, Cullen was led to his quarters by Josephine. “Could I at least have a bath, Josephine,” Cullen pleaded.

She sighed in mild exasperation. “Yes, of course, that’s what I’m hurrying you to. In an hour, the tailors will be in to fit your uniform for the ball. We will need to leave in a week if we are to make it on time.”

“We have a situation developing in the Approach as well,” Cullen said seriously. He sighed. “This is cutting it very, very close.”

“There is no choice, we have one night to save the Empress,” Josephine said, her face the very image of worry. “And you are not ready.”

“I’m not,” Cullen agreed, wincing. “I was never one for the ball room - Templars don’t attend balls.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a quick study,” she said, though Cullen suspected she was less sure than she sounded. “From now to Halamshiral, I’ve planned all you need to prepare, between etiquette lessons, political briefs with Leliana and dance lessons with Evelyn.”

He didn’t complain, though he was sure his scowl said it all. “I am at your disposal as always, Josephine,” he said. “If all this is really necessary.” He did not want to make a fool of himself and sabotage the Inquisition with his lack of patience with nobility.

“I would not do it if it wasn’t,” Josephine said, holding his door open and pushing him into the room. “An hour, Inquisitor! We are very pressed for time!”

Cullen did not sigh until the door shut and Josephine was out of earshot. He undressed and had his bath. Then, donned in a simple tunic, breeches and sash around his waist, he ate a quick meal and took a moment to read up on reports left on his desk. It was always busy as Inquisitor. And now he knew why he wasn’t collapsing with exhaustion or even really feeling the effects of lyrium withdrawal since Therinfal, when he’d been practically surrounded by the stuff, when it had gotten into his body. He thought he had burned it all off fighting Envy. But his abilities did not seem to have disappeared. True, they were weaker than before, but he could turn a spell just as when he was taking lyrium. Because of the mark. An old song for the new? Cassandra seemed awfully mysterious when he spoke to her about this at Therinfal. Perhaps it’s time she came clean, he had the feeling she knew something she wasn’t telling him.

But his time was not his own, as a knock on his door reminded him. Tailors entered, bearing sewing mannequins and carefully folded clothes in delicate waxed paper. They began to set up the attire on the dummy as well as a changing screen. Cullen watched them, his arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned on his desk. Leliana had picked out red and blue, but Cullen had refused from the outset. Too much red was… too much. She had settled for a dark ash gray with silver linings and a dark red sash. Cullen approved. If he was going to wear the silly thing, he might as well look good in it. The epaulettes were of dark leather. Good, nothing too ostentatious. The uniform should demonstrate the gravity of the Inquisition’s mission, not make him a walking fashion statement.

“Is this to your liking, Inquisitor?” asked the head tailor, a calm man with a yawning sort of voice, who squinted at him behind thick glasses.

Cullen shrugged. “It looks good so far,” he said as he went forward to feel the fabric. It was rich and soft. Maker, when had he ever worn anything this costly that wasn’t made of metal? “Though nothing would turn a blade, would it?”

“Inquisitor?” the tailor blinked.

“A blade?” Cullen said weakly. “Because it’s cloth and I’m not used to uniforms that didn’t clang when I walk.” The man stared at him. Cullen gave up. “It was a joke.”

“Clanging can be arranged,” he heard. Evelyn was climbing the stairs to join him.

“Is it time for dancing already?” Cullen blinked.

“No,” Evelyn said, a slight tinge coming to her cheeks. “Seeker Cassandra insisted I examine the uniform, since I commissioned the accessories. Our dance lesson isn’t for an hour or so yet.”

Cullen swore inside. Sweet Andraste, Cassandra was being too obvious in her, what’s the word he was looking for? Encouragement? “I’ve not even changed yet,” Cullen pointed out.

She set down a large, flat wooden box she was holding on the couch. “Has the fun started yet?” came another voice.

“Not Dorian!” Cullen exclaimed.

“Inquisitor! You wound me!” Dorian grinned, coming up the stairs, bearing a bottle of wine and some goblets. “They did consult me on the uniform. I want to see the result of my magnificent input. Not to mention, a young lady and a man undressing in a room? What would people think? I volunteer to be chaperone.”

Evelyn burst into laughter even as Cullen glared at Dorian. Dorian sprawled in the chair. “Wine, Commander?” he asked.

“I won’t say no,” Evelyn grinned. Then she glanced at Cullen. “It would be inappropriate not to have a chaperone, Inquisitor,” she said with wide innocent eyes as Dorian poured her a goblet of wine.

“And the wine has nothing to do with this?” Cullen raised an eyebrow. Her blue eyes shone like beacons of innocent incomprehension as she sipped the wine. Cullen rolled his eyes and shook his head. The last thing he needed for this was an audience. Still, Dorian did ease the tension. “Fine,” he sighed. “If I can bear comments from the both of you, the nobles should be no issue.”

“You’ll want Vivienne for that,” Dorian said, waving a glass of wine at him. “Shall I call her?”

“No, thank you,” Cullen’s eyebrow twitched.

“The worst you’ll face at Halamshiral would be barbed remarks whispered behind your back,” Evelyn said. “And not even the strongest plate can turn those blades.”

Cullen sighed in resignation.

“Would ser like to try on the uniform?” asked the tailor.

“Yes, might as well,” he said. The uniform was brought behind the screen and Cullen changed into it. “Dorian gave input on these?” Cullen asked as he buttoned up the shirt.

“Of course,” came Dorian’s voice.

“Why aren’t there a hundred different buckles then?”

“I was sadly vetoed.”

Cullen sat on the bed and pulled on his boots. They pinched at the toes. He would need to wear them in before Halamshiral, he didn’t want to limp in front of everyone. He emerged from behind the screen. Evelyn’s cup paused halfway to her lips as she stared at him, a slow blush creeping to her cheeks. Cullen found that... oddly satisfying. He cleared his throat and she broke her stare, looking aside and sipping her wine with a strange little smile on her lips.

“Absolutely dashing,” Dorian approved. “Though it would look so much better on the Commander’s flo-”

“Dorian, I will stab you,” Evelyn said breezily as she stood up, setting her cup down.

“Or, on his own floor, as long as it’s on the floor,” Dorian drawled.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen sighed, blushing. “Honestly, you both are impossible.”

Evelyn picked up the box and opened it. She drew out a silver Inquisition insignia attached to a matching silver chain. “That actually looks rather nice,” Cullen eyed the insignia.

She chuckled. “I owe Dorian five sovereigns,” she said.

“Why?” he asked as she stepped up to him to pin the insignia to his sash, then slipped the chain through his epaulette and under his arm.

“Because you are as vain as he says you are,” she laughed as she smoothed down his sash.

“I most certainly am not!”

“Your hair gets that way on its own then?”

He looked away. “Er-- not entirely,” he admitted. He realized her hands were on his chest. She didn’t seem to notice, but stepped away from him, her hand holding her elbow as the other touched her chin. She regarded him thoughtfully. “What do you think, Dorian?”

“How honest do you want me to be?” Dorian asked, sipping his wine.

“Honest enough without him jumping over the balcony in fear - or without Bull coming in here to brain him,” Evelyn replied.

“Then I think he looks positively edible,” Dorian smirked.

Cullen did not trust himself to say anything.

“You’re going to need to relax when being stared at, Cullen,” Evelyn said seriously. “All eyes will be upon you.”

“I don’t think they’re going to be leering at me,” Cullen replied.

“Was I leering? I really should be more discreet,” Dorian grinned.

Evelyn smiled. “They’ll be leering, trust me,” she said. “The minute you walk in, every woman and man so inclined is going to sigh with longing.”

“And when you blush, they’ll swarm like bees to honey,” Dorian cooed. “Try not to hit anyone, that’s usually saved for the Gentleman’s Party afterwards.”

“I’m sure I’ll be civil,” Cullen sighed. Everything they were saying was true. He had to stay cool, the last thing he needed was to unravel or worse, lose his temper.

“Ideally, you should be charming,” Evelyn said as the tailor busied himself with Cullen’s uniform , checking the fit and measurements.

Cullen stood with his arms out as the tailor busied himself with the garment. “That’s a little harder,” he admitted.

“It’s best not to let on that he’s single,” Dorian mused. “Or he’ll never get anything done at the ball with suitors trailing after him.”

“Oh, Maker,” Evelyn frowned worriedly, biting her thumbnail. “I should tell Josephine that. Damn.”

“What?” Cullen glared at them.

“Nothing you should worry about,” she said quickly. “I’ll handle it.”

“That does not ease my worry,” Culle pointed out. “What suitors?”

“What suitors, he says,” Dorian laughed. “Cullen, are you really so naive to your effect on those around you?”

Cullen looked at him in puzzlement.

“Leave him alone, Dorian, I like him the way he is,” Evelyn said thoughtfully.

Cullen blinked. Did she just say that?

“Indeed. Ah, Cullen. Don’t you know? Moribus et forma conciliandus amor,” Dorian sighed. He sipped his wine. “Pleasing manners and good looks conciliate love.”

Evelyn laughed. “In his case, it’s more: l’amour fait les plus grandes douceurs et les plus sensibles infortunes de la vie.” She caught his eye. “Love is responsible for the greatest pleasure and the worst problems in life,” she translated.

“That’s the Maker’s truth,” Cullen muttered.

“Don’t worry, Josephine and I will handle it,” she smiled.

“Ser,” the tailor said deferentially. “We may need to let out the chest a little.”

“It is slightly tight,” Cullen admitted.

“Would ser like to remove the garment?”

“Please,” Dorian said and winced as Evelyn smacked his shoulder. “Oh, don’t pretend, you!”

“Shut up,” she laughed.

Cullen smirked slightly and shook his head, heading behind the screen. He started to undress and change into the clothes he was wearing before. It was obvious she fancied him. That was a given. Yes, he had absolutely ruined his first dinner invitation, but the question now was: Was this even possible? He would not feel comfortable with an idle dalliance. But he did not know what she wanted. And there was the question of Ser Laurent. If anything, that needed to be cleared up first.

When he emerged in his tunic and breeches, he froze to see Evelyn undoing her armour, slipping off her breastplate and setting it on the ground.

“That face is priceless,” Dorian laughed, looking at Cullen.

“Maker’s breath, Dorian. Did you come here just to laugh at me?” Cullen asked, tearing his eyes from Evelyn.

“Not really. I came here to gawk. Uniforms. My one weakness.”

Cullen glared at him as he handed the tailor back the uniform. Evelyn handed him the box. “Keep the insignia,” she said, now donned in only her tunic and breeches. He smiled his thanks and set the precious silver brooch and chain into the velvet-lined box.

“And the shoes, ser?” asked the tailor.

“Those are fine,” Cullen said from his desk. “I’ll need to wear them in a bit, so I’ll keep them with me.”

“As you wish, Inquisitor.”

The tailors were carrying away the mannequin and clothing now. Evelyn sat beside Dorian, pulling off her boots, her legs already shed of their greaves. “This is a private dance lesson, Dorian,” she said to the man.

Dorian sighed. “Well, I’ve had my fun for the day anyway,” he said, standing up. “Chess later, Inquisitor?”

Cullen smiled. “If my dance teacher will let me go,” he said.

Evelyn laughed. “Send the musician up, if you please, Dorian,” she said as Dorian descended the staircase.

“Of course, play nice you two,” he winked at them.

“Maker’s breath,” Evelyn chuckled and went up to Cullen. “So,” she said, standing before him. “Have you danced before?”

“Not with nobility,” he smiled. She was rather short, he noted. Her head barely reached his chin. Her feet were rather pretty on his carpet. “Is it wise for you to not wear shoes? I might step on your toes.”

She looked at him in amusement. “Gladly shall I sacrifice for the Inquisition,” she smiled. The door opened behind them as Maryden came into the room and respectfully sat herself down on a stool to play.

Evelyn smiled up at Cullen. “We’ll begin slow.”

Cullen knew how to dance. There had been fairs in Honnleath in his youth, and the recruits would have their little gatherings where dances would be held. That was ages ago… He doubted such simple dances would suffice for the Winter Palace. “What are we doing exactly?” he asked.

“There’s a new dance that’s in fashion in court,” she said. “It is meant to be done in formation, and the steps are relatively simple.” She moved his hands into position. “I’ll be the man for now.”

She looked so serious about this while he thought this was utterly ridiculous. He tried not to smile. “You’ll be the man? Do I need to curtsey?”

“If you want,” she eyed him. “Don’t mock this, Inquisitor. The Game is played just as much on the dance floor as it is in the shadows.”

“Of course, of course,” he gave in. “I’ll be serious.” To Cullen’s surprise, the steps were not that hard, just ostentatious. His fingers held hers delicately as they moved through the dance steps slowly. She was a direct but sharp teacher, each mistake spotted, each smooth flow praised. He realized she was training him like she would train a recruit with sword drills. He watched her feet as she moved, not just to learn the steps but because she… had pretty feet. He chided himself inwardly. Was this wise, he wondered. Assuming that he did give in, that he did pursue this, was it even wise? He was Inquisitor, and she the Commander of his forces. They were at war. Perhaps pondering the wisdom of furthering their relationship wasn’t as much the question as to whether it was even possible. Who knows when either of them would be called to the Maker’s side, Cassandra’s words came back to him. He watched her as their hands lightly touched, their bodies moving in the ebb and flow of the dance. His mind shied from the thought of her death. What did she even really think of him? What did she possibly see in a man who was nearly a decade older than her? Would she be disillusioned when she realized the person she idolized was nothing more than a battered old soldiers who had seen too many deaths in his time?

She turned in the dance, her body coming close to his, his hand settling on her waist as she turned in his arms. This was impossible, he thought. As much as he wanted it. They were at war. They both had greater things to worry about than just one person. Her feet flicked on the carpet in time with the music as he held her hands, her back to him. Her hair smelled of lavender. And yet he wanted this. Maker, what was he doing? She looked up at him then, her blue eyes meeting his over her shoulder, a lock of hair caught on her lips. He reached around and pulled it from her lips, his fingers brushing her cheek and curling along her chin. If he could not treasure one person, what good was saving the world?

Her breath seemed to catch in her throat at his touch. His heart pounded with the dance and the closeness of their bodies. So this was why people danced. Her lips were so near to his. His eyes half-lidded as she seemed to tremble in his gaze. Was this so wrong, he wondered as she leaned against him. Her eyes fell to his parted lips, the moment seeming to still. All he heard was the swelling song of the lute, all he saw was her eyes, hopeful, uncertain, as eager for this as he was. He shut his eyes, lowering his lips towards hers as she leaned up to him. Was happiness to much to ask for?

No.

“Inquisitor? A message for you sir. From Sister Leliana.”

Cullen’s eyes opened wide, the moment shattering around him. He clenched his jaw in utter frustration as he let Evelyn go, her breath sharply drawn through her teeth. “What?” he growled at the luckless messenger coming up the staircase to his apartment.

The messenger stilled in the fire of Cullen’s furious glare. “Er,” he paused and glanced from Cullen to the annoyed looking Commander, standing with her hand on her hip and touching her lip with her thumb, then to the slightly smiling Maryden.

“Sister Leliana said-- Sister Leliana said--” the messenger fumbled.

“Spit it out,” Evelyn barked. She dismissed Meryden with a nod of her head, indicating the lesson was over.  

“She bids you to come to the rookery,” the messenger squeaked and backed away from the two of them, practically fleeing. The door soon shut behind Maryden and the messenger, leaving them in heavy silence.

Cullen could still feel the heat of her body against his, see her lips so close to his. He wanted this- to come so close--

“Cullen,” Evelyn’s voice intruded in his thoughts. He wanted this. He was moving to her with no other thought in his head. “If you need to--” His hands cradled her head, tilting her lips up to his, her gasp stopped short as his lips caught hers at last in the kiss he had yearned for since the day he saw her. She stiffened, and for a fraction of a second, he feared she would pull away. But she seemed to melt in his kiss, her hands catching his elbows. He pulled away slowly, reluctantly. His cheeks warm and his breath short, his eyes opening languidly to look at her. Her lips were parted breathlessly, her eyes filled with pleasant surprise. “I’m sorry,” he croaked. Oh, Maker... “That was- um, very nice.”

She slowly smiled. “That,” she said, “was what I wanted.”

“Oh.” He smirked, feeling a warm glow filling him from his very core, effervescent like bubbles from sparkling wine. “Good.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her again, languidly, this time, holding her close, feeling her lips part at the gentle touch of his tongue. He tasted her at last. He could feel her fingers entwined in his hair, her soft delighted moans filling his ears as their tongues touched and danced, making his fingers grip her tunic in longing. Was this so wrong? If she should find out about him and change her mind… He’d… cross that bridge when he got to it.

Their lips parted against as they both drew breath, locked in each other’s gaze. Her heart was in her eyes. “I… I care about you,” she said in a small voice. “You know that, don’t you?”

He smiled at her, her hands sliding into his. “I do. I’ve… known for a while.”

“Then what stopped you?”

“I’m the Inquisitor. We’re at war and you--” You frightened and enticed me all at the same time, he added in the privacy of his mind. But he continued, “I didn’t think it was possible.”

She smiled gently at him. “I’m glad you changed your mind,” she murmured.

He chuckled softly. “Me too.”

“You know, that lock of hair move you did in the dance was actually very smooth,” she grinned at him. “If only we weren’t interrupted.”

He actually laughed. He wasn’t expecting that. “I think I’m fine as long as I don’t talk,” he winced despite his smile. “Speaking of talk, I should-- I should get to Leliana.”

“Oh!” Evelyn blinked. “Right. I’ll… see you later then?”

“For dinner together, this time, perhaps? At the Rest?” he asked. Thank the Maker that came out the way he wanted, this time.

She beamed at him, blushing rosily as she headed down the stairs. She hurried back then with an embarrassed laugh, and gathered her armour and boots, throwing everything onto the breastplate before taking off again, her bare feet patting the stones as she left. Cullen licked his lips and smiled to himself, feeling better than he’d ever felt in years. Humming the song, he went to change his boots and put on his armour before heading to the rookery.

He passed Solas in the rotunda, perched on the scaffolding by the wall as he painted, one leg dangling off the side of the platform. “Solas,” Cullen greeted cheerfully.

Solas looked down at him and seemed to smile in amusement. “You’re in a good mood, Inquisitor,” he noted.

“It’s a-- nice day,” Cullen cleared his throat and hurried on. Was that a smirk on Solas’s face? Damn, he didn’t think he were that obvious. He pointedly avoided Dorian’s alcove on the second floor and hurried up the stairs to the rookery. “You called, Leliana?” he asked, seeing her at her austere desk, papers spread out before her.

She looked up at him from her papers and raised her eyebrow as she smiled. “How did the dance lesson go?” she asked.

“It went fine,” Cullen murmured.

“Better than fine, perhaps?”

“I-- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Don’t blush. Don’t blush.

“Your hair's a mess.”

“Damn,” Cullen snapped, reaching up to smooth his hair down. “Maker’s breath.” And... he was blushing. With his hands pressing his hair down, he said, “You know this doesn’t even mean anything, right?”

“Aw, I think it’s cute,” Leliana laughed. “But I did not ask you here to hear your adorable excuses.”

“Very funny.” He sat down opposite her at the desk, willing the blush from his cheeks.

She steepled her fingers as she looked at him. “Our agents have encountered more of these Venatori,” she began. “Their leader Calpernia has them searching elven ruins. For what, I do not know. I propose we stop the Venatori before they find what they seek.”

Cullen leaned back. Yes, talk about business. The last thing he wanted was Leliana and her knowing smile ribbing him further. “What about Samson?” he asked. “Is he not a leader as well?”

“Reports seem to be conflicting in that regard. It appears that whatever Red Templars Corypheus has are led by Samson, but they are not delving the jungles. Their purpose seems to be different. Still, the Commander has taken that matter in hand. Perhaps you should speak to her about Samson to see what information she has. On the other hand, Calpernia is posing a different sort of threat.”

“Is that so? What do we know about her?”

“Little other than Calpernia is a name from ancient Tevinter legend. An unusual one, at that. She was a priestess of Dumat, foster mother to the Imperium. A name like that is meant to assure the Venatori that they follow in the footsteps of legends.”

“Then we must prove them wrong,” Cullen frowned.

“We shall,” she smiled slightly. “These Venatori have been shadowing a merchant called Vicinius, on Calpernia’s orders. They’ve investigated his finances and surveyed his warehouses.”

“Why him?”

“I do not know,” Leliana leaned back. “I propose that you meet with Vicinius. Flatter him. Find out what he knows about Calpernia.”

Cullen looked out the window beside her thoughtfully. “Where is the man?”

“In Val Royeaux.”

“We don’t have the time to make a special trip. Unless, we stop by on our way to Halamshiral. Which means we’ll need to leave a little quicker than expected.”

“It never hurts to eliminate an avenue of inquiry. And we should tread lightly with the Venatori. They have contacts and spies, just as we do. The sooner you speak with Vicinius, the better.”

“Well, we need him to open up about these bloodthirsty cultists,” Cullen said as he set his arms on the chair’s armrests. He smirked at Leliana. “I’ll bring wine.”

She chuckled. “He could be a useful ally. Merchants travel and they love gossip as much as coin. I’ll make arrangements for you to visit him. Hopefully, your attention should be enough to pique his interest. We’ll have Calpernia’s secrets yet.”

And speaking of secrets… Cullen sought out Cassandra after his meeting with Leliana. That thing that Cole had said, about lyrium and the mark, he had to know the truth from her. He found her at the stocks, reading another one of Varric’s books as she sat on a stool behind a dummy. “There are better places to read if you don’t want to be spotted, Cassandra,” he said, coming up to her.

She gasped and sighed in relief when she saw him. “It’s just you. For a minute, I thought it was that Tevinter.”

He chuckled. “You shared the book with him?”

“It-- he asked,” she said a little defensively, tucking the book away behind the dummy.

“What chapter are you at?” Cullen asked, unable to stem his curiosity. “Still on Swords and Shields, I take it?”

“Yes, the latest chapter,” Cassandra said, sounding a little unhappy. “We’ve been busy. I have not read much.”

“She’s read this one three times,” Cole appeared behind her.

She jumped and glared at him. “I told you to stop spying!” she snapped at Cole.

“You read it out to me,” Cole’s eyes were wide as he looked at her. “I didn’t like the captain either.”

“I never did that!”

“Cole,” Cullen gestured for him to come over. “It’s simpler with you here. I need to ask you something, Seeker. Cole tells me that I’m not experience the adverse effects of lyrium sickness because of the mark.”

“Oh?” she said, book forgotten. “Did he, now?” She looked at Cole. “What do you know about this?”

“The mark sings,” Cole said. “It hums gentler, kinder when he trusts it. It sings like the old songs, when they all sang the same, before they were sundered.”

“What does that do to my body?” Cullen asked.

“It echoes inside. You no longer reach for the old song. Like dwarves.”

“Yet you say you’ve been experiencing some effects,” Cassandra said to Cullen.

“Headaches, shakes,” Cullen replied. He hesitated. “Nightmares. But they are not as adverse as when I... started. I thought I was acclimatizing to the lack of lyrium in my blood. And yet, I can still turn magic though it’s months since my last philter, and weeks since the wound at Therinfal.”

“And Cole suspects the mark?”

“Yes?” Cole said. “It fills him up. He pushes it where he wants to. New magic cannot come in because magic fills him already.”

Cullen balked at that. “Magic fills me?” he asked.

“You’re scared because you think they will come for you,” Cole looked at him. “Clawing, reaching, touching, fingers everywhere where they don’t belong - mind and body.”

“Stop,” Cullen croaked, shutting his eyes to the memories.

“But they will come for you anyway.”

Cullen stared at Cole.

“Mage or not, they try to find a way in. Mages are easier than others, but all are suitable. They try to come in, unless they can’t because it’s full already. They need to take it out to step inside. You are full up. Like the Seeker. There is no room for demons in you.”

“That did not stop Envy,” Cullen said.

“Envy tried to come in,” Cole replied and fell silent. “He tried to break you, a sliver, a crack was all he wanted. Turn the water red from within. To wear you after he pushed you out. But you’re still you.”

Cullen was understanding Cole less and less the more he spoke.

Cassandra folded her arms. “I think he is correct,” she said. Cullen turned to her. “Seekers have all the abilities of a Templar, yet we do not imbibe lyrium. We learn them through rigorous training and discipline. You trained just as hard. My family also has a long line of dragon hunters, many of whom also drank dragon’s blood. Both lyrium and dragon’s blood are magical in their nature. Dragons blood allowed those who drank it to become powerful, granting them enhanced and new abilities, but at a price. Lyrium is no different. If it appears that your abilities do come from a magical source, we can assume that your body may be drawing from the mark, as well.”

“So have I just replaced lyrium with something else?” Cullen asked.

“Do you feel like you need the magic of the mark?” Cassandra asked.

“It’s on my hand! I sort of need my hand, Cassandra!”

“Then to think of it as addiction is foolish,” she said. “More likely, it is sustaining you, allowing you to function as before but without taking lyrium.”

“You knew about this. At Therinfal. You acted like you knew.”

“I suspected. I did not know. The trouble I see you facing now is the cost of the Anchor. With lyrium, the effects are known. But the mark is something unknown to us. It is possible that you are the only person in history who will ever experience this.”

“That is no comfort to me, Cassandra,” Cullen sighed, balling his marked hand into a fist. He turned to Cole, who was watching them. “Thank you, Cole,” he said. “You’ve been helpful.”

Cole smiled slightly. “Good.”

Cullen blinked. Cole was gone. “I hate when he does that,” he complained. “At least I remember.”

“You are too friendly with this creature,” Cassandra warned him.

“He has done nothing but aid us. And we’re not here to talk about Cole.”

“Why does this worry you?”

“Must you ask? I thought I could be free of the Templars, leave it all behind - everything! I knew the cost. I was willing to pay it if it meant I could-- I could gain some control over my life! But this-- this thing--”

“Saved the world one already,” she cut in. “And now it seems to be sustaining you for the foreseeable future. It is not the leash that you fear it to be, nor is it the escape from the Templars you had planned. It is what you need to lead us.”

“I do not need the mark to lead us, Cassandra,” he said, calming down.

“No, you do not. You are doing fine without it. But the mark is necessary yet. Bear it for as long as you can. Keep your eyes open for any strange effects.”

“You mean other than the fact that I have this on my palm?” he asked, holding up his mark. It flared like an excited puppy. “Stop it, that’s an order,” he snapped at it, clenching his fist. The mark stilled.

“Why do you talk to it?” Cassandra asked, an eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know how else to tell it what I want other than telling it what I want,” Cullen shook his marked hand, looking away awkwardly. He smiled at her. “I guess that sets my mind at ease. Thank you for stopping me from flying off the handle.”

She simply smiled at him. “Where is the Champion?” she asked then.

“With Solona, gathering intelligence on the Wardens,” Cullen replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh.”

“That’s all?”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes hardened as she looked at him.

“Why do you ask after him?”

“Because he is an ally!”

“No other reason?”

“Should I be asking why you suddenly smell of lavender?”

They glared at each other’s suddenly deadpan expressions. “I have things to do,” he said, turning to leave.

Cassandra chuckled. “Drinks later?”

Cullen glanced over his shoulder. “I have… company tonight,” he said and hurried away before she could start teasing him.

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for Cullen flirt great success! Writing the alternative to the kiss scene was actually really enjoyable! Awe, Cully, you need some love *hugs* Stop killing yourself and just be happy!


	19. Halamshiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Power at a point in Halamshiral, where Cullen wades knee-deep into the Game, all the while trying to fend off pawing nobles.

Halamshiral by night was a thing of beauty. Spires rising into the sky bathed silver and blue by moonlight, lions rearing up magnificently to the sky atop delicate arches. After what proved to be an exhaustingly busy time of preparation and travel, they were here at last. Cullen rode up to the palace along a long boulevard, flanked by his entourage and honour guard. His three advisors rode behind him, followed by Cassandra, Vivienne and Varric. He could not imagine bringing any of the others without eyebrows being raised.

 

“The political situation in Halamshiral hangs by a thread,” Josephine continued with her briefing. “The empress fears our presence could sever it. The Grand Duke is only too happy to have us at the ball as his guests, so our invitation comes from him, thanks to Madame Vivienne.”

 

“How did you arrange this?” Cullen asked over his shoulder.

 

“It’s quite simple, darling,” she smiled. “Favours for favours and the promises of favours. And Gaspard is just the kind of incendiary sort who’d want a wild card such as yourself at his side.” She looked absolutely like the picture of elegance in her uniform, her henin glinting in the moonlight.

 

“I see,” Cullen said. “I hope you weren’t too specific about your promises of favours.”

 

“Darling, do you even need to ask? Who do you take me for?”

 

Cullen smiled at her. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.

 

“In the Game, it favours one to be less direct. Do try, my dear, I’m sure you can if you put your mind to it.”

 

Cullen tried not to sigh. “I shall be guided by your good advice, Madame Vivienne.”

 

“That’s the sort of charm they want,” Vivienne smiled as the gates loomed in the distance.

 

“Whether we act as his allies or upset the balance of power, the Duke gains an opportunity, if not a clear advantage,” Josephine went on. “We must tread carefully.”

 

“We also have a unique position to influence the peace talks,” Leliana said. “The outcomes of tonight’s ball may determine the fate of Orlais and who rules her. If necessary, we may need to let Celene be… replaced.”

 

“Celene represents stability, the best hope for Orlais,” Josephine pointed out.

 

“On the other hand, Gaspard has the full support of the Chevaliers,” Evelyn added. “If the threat to the world would be better addressed with a more military-minded leader…”

 

“Whoever you decide to throw your weight behind, it won’t mean a thing without the support from the Council of Heralds,” Vivienne added. “No leader wears the crown of Orlais without their endorsement.”

 

“You’re asking me to pick the leader of Orlais?” Cullen asked, the very thought seemed too great for his mind to address. “Are you quite serious?”

 

“With approval of the court, your word would carry influence, Inquisitor,” Leliana told him.

 

“Power at a point,” Cullen said thoughtfully.

 

Leliana looked slightly surprised. “Indeed,” she said.

 

“He’s a big fan of Tacticus,” Evelyn told her. “You know, the great general of the Imperium? But power at a point usually refers to a sword at someone’s neck.”

 

“Do you know everything about me?” Cullen asked her.

 

She looked him up and down archly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “No, but I’m working on it, Inquisitor.”

 

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen couldn’t help but blush as Josephine giggled.

 

“It’s a pity we don’t get to try on those mask things,” Varric said. “No one can see you blush with one of those on!”

 

“Not wearing a mask is actually better,” Evelyn said. “Orlesian nobles wear masks to play the Game, full masks for the heads of houses, half for servants. On the other hand, those who are above the game wear none. Like Gray Wardens or Clergy - or the Inquisition.”

 

“That is one blessing for the evening.” Cullen muttered.

 

“You know a lot about Orlesians, Giggles,” Varric noted.

 

“My mother is very Orlesian,” she sneered slightly.

 

“Giggles?” Cullen asked.

 

“I’ll let you find out,” Varric chuckled.

 

They dismounted by the gate as the guards formed up in two columns. As the troops saluted, Cullen entered the pit of vipers, full of traps for the unwary - Halamshiral. Music drifted to him from musicians playing on the lawns over the sound of delicate fountains and the murmurings of the nobles who mingled in the gardens. All eyes turned to him, the hubbub lowering as he walked in. “Is that the Inquisitor?” he heard the whispers from behind their masks and lace fans.

 

“A Fereldan? There must be some mistake.”

 

“I hear he left the Templar order to lead the Inquisition.”

 

“I hear he was in Kirkwall, failed to stop the attack on the Chantry.”

 

“He is quite fetching, isn’t he?”

 

Cullen set his jaw. He tried his best to ignore the scrutiny. Perhaps surprisingly, the Grand Duke himself was waiting for them. Gaspard had the good sense to wear armour to the Palace - ostentatious, pointy and slightly ornamental armour, yes, but metals turned blades better than silk. “Inquisitor Rutherford,” Gaspard greeted, shaking Cullen’s hand. “It is an honour to meet at last.”

 

“The honour is mine, your grace,” Cullen replied. The man had the handshake of a soldier, which was unsurprising. Gaspard was a Chevalier.

 

“Rumours from Ferelden are that you brought the Templar Order to heel,” Gaspard said conversationally as they walked together through the gardens. “Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais.”

 

“I can see many benefits to that alliance,” Cullen said. Be indirect, always pretend to agree, Josephine had drilled him.

 

“Keep the image in mind, Inquisitor. We may see it materialize by the end of the evening. I am not a man who forgets his friends. You help me, I’ll help you.” They climbed the grand staircase to the main gate.  “Are you ready to shock the court by walking in with a hateful usurper, Inquisitor?” Gaspard asked breezily. “They will be telling stories of this into the next age.”

 

Here we go, Cullen mused. Be polite, try to charm, remember you’re not allowed to groan in their faces, and don’t pick up a champagne glass with five fingers. “A hateful usurper and a Fereldan? It will be an unexpected surprise for all, your grace,” he smiled.

 

Gaspard laughed. “I knew you and I would get along famously, Inquisitor,” he said. Cullen doubted that, but smiled anyway. “As a friend, perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening. It has to do with this elven woman Briala. I suspect she intends to disrupt negotiations. My people have found these ‘Ambassadors’ all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes.”

 

Cullen was acutely aware that the Inquisition too was bringing in agents over the fortifications. If Gaspard thought like a soldier, Cullen knew his troops would be sneaking into the palace as well. This had the potential to end in massive bloodshed. “Truly?” he said mildly. “What do you know of this, your grace?”

 

“This Briala used to be a servant of Celene’s. That is, until my cousin had her arrested for crimes against the empire to cover up for a political mistake. If anyone here wishes Celene harm, Inquisitor, it’s that elf. She certainly has reason.”

 

And you do not, Cullen wondered? “I see,” was all he said.

 

Gaspard sighed. “Be discreet, Inquisitor,” he whispered as they reached the top of the stairs and headed to the towering gates into the palace itself. “I detest the game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains.” He smiled then and his voice returned to its breezy charm. “We’re keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor. Shall we?”

 

“Inquisitor, a moment, if you please,” Josephine said as she touched his elbow.

 

“Join me later, Inquisitor,” Gaspard said as he walked in.

 

“Of course, your grace.” Cullen turned to Josephine, her eyes worried behind the mask. “Yes?”

 

“I must warn you before you go inside,” she said seriously. “How you speak to the court is a matter of life and death. It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness.”

 

“That sounds like the daily report to Meredith,” Cullen said. “Templars are not above such politics as well, Lady Montilyet. Ours is probably just as delicate. We’re all carrying big swords when we meet, after all.”

 

“The Game here is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards. When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you. You were probably safer with Corypheus in Haven.”

 

Cullen adjusted a silver lined cuff. “You’re being very reassuring,” he noted drily.

 

“Everything will be fine,” she smiled a brittle smile.

 

“Maker willing,” Cullen murmured.

 

He rejoined the Grand Duke in the vestibule, his advisors already in position for the court herald to introduce them. Gaspard’s eyes were tight with excitement as he descended the staircase to the dance floor first. “And now presenting: Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons,” the herald intoned as the court quietened at the introduction of such an important figure. Gaspard bowed elegantly despite his armour and started towards the end of the hall, where Celene appeared into the light of the dazzling chandeliers, framed by gold and donned in a brilliant blue dress. She watched her cousin as he approached. “And accompanying him,” Cullen heard. He started down the stairs to approach Celene, his heart beating in his ears as he felt all eyes upon him. “Inquisitor Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, shepherd and leash of the wayward Order of Templars, purger of the heretics from the ranks of the faithful. Lion of Skyhold. Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself!”

 

“This guy writes better fiction than I do,” Varric muttered from his position on the mezzanine.

 

“Just smile, this is all for show, my dear” Vivienne hissed at him.

 

Cullen smiled slightly as he walked. “Did you see their faces?” Gaspard chuckled softly as Cullen fell into step beside him. “Priceless.”

 

“Accompanying the Inquisitor,” the Herald went on. “Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena-”

 

“Get on with it!”

 

Cullen carefully tried not to laugh. It helped ease the tension. He was wound like a spring with everyone watching him.

 

“-Penteghast, fourteenth cousin to the king of Nevarra, nine times removed. Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine. Madame Vivienne, First Enchanter of the Circle of Magi, Enchanter of the Imperial Court, Mistress of the Duke of Ghislaine. Renowned author, Varric Tethras, head of noble house Tethras, deshyr of Kirkwall to the dwarven Merchant’s Guild.”

 

“Lady Evelyn Tatienne Tevelyan of Ostwick, Commander of the Forces of the Inquisition, former Knight Captain of the Templars of Ostwick. Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court, Veteran of the Fifth Blight, Seneschal of the Inquisition and Left Hand of the Divine. And Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisition.”

 

Cullen stopped before the mezzanine where Empress Celene looked down gracefully upon them. Beside her stood a woman in white, her dress and mask marked like the wings of a moth. “Grand Duke,” Celene said, her voice deep with age, her hair powdered and her eyes calculating. “We are always honored when your presence graces our court.”

 

“Don’t waste my time with pleasantries, Celene. We have business to conclude,” Gaspard said bluntly. Cullen realized the man might be worse at this than he was. So far.

 

“We will meet for the negotiations after we have seen to our other guests,” Celene replied smoothly.

 

Gaspard floridly bowed. “Inquisitor,” he bade farewell and took his leave.

 

Cullen looked up at Celene, the woman who didn’t even want him here. “Lord Inquisitor,” she smiled. “We welcome you to the Winter Palace.”

 

Cullen bowed simply, with no florid finger twirling. He was a Templar. He’d be damned if he had to twirl his fingers and bow. “Allow us to present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes,” Celene went on. “Without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”

 

The Grand Duchess curtseyed as she stood beside Celene. “What an unexpected pleasure. I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities.” She gave Cullen an odd smile under her mask. “We will certainly speak soon, Inquisitor.” She curtseyed and stepped away from the Empress’ side.

 

“Your arrival at Court is like a cool wind on a summer’s day,” Celene was saying to him.

 

Cullen suddenly thought of Meredith and how he would have dealt with her. He would have matched her mood. “Even the fairest of winds may turn foul,” he smiled. This was stupid.

 

“We are at the mercy of the skies, Inquisitor. How do you find Halamshiral?”

 

This was easier. “I am, or was but a humble Templar, Your Majesty,” he replied. “I have no words that would do justice to the many beauties of the Winter Palace.”

 

“Your modesty does you credit, and speaks well of the Inquisition. Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.”

 

Cullen smiled and bowed before taking his leave, as another guest prepared to be introduced. He was joined in the mezzanine by Leliana, who caught up with him. “A word, when you have a moment, Inquisitor,” she said.

 

“Might as well,” he replied and followed her.

 

“That went well,” she replied as they walked together, their voices hushed.

 

“I didn’t trip, that’s always a blessing,” he said. “Duke Gaspard points the finger at Ambassador Briala.”

 

“The Ambassador is up to something,” Leliana agreed. “But she cannot be our focus. The best place to strike at Celene is from her side.” They opened the door to step out into the vestibule. Leliana headed to a couch and sat down with a slightly weary sigh. “Empress Celene is fascinated by mysticism - foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead, that sort of rubbish. She has an “Occult Advisor.” An apostate who charmed the Empress and key members of the court as if by magic. I’ve had dealings with her in the past. She is ruthless and capable of anything.”

 

“Why was I not informed of this before,” Cullen frowned, his voice in a whisper.

 

“We can’t be sure of anything here,” Leliana replied. “If she is present, and now I’m certain she is, she is worth investigating.”

 

Possible blood magic. Wonderful. “Where would she-”

 

“Inquisitor?” a noblewoman said as she came up to him, fanning herself and spreading her cloying perfume. “Perhaps later you would like to ask me to dance?”

 

“No, thank you,” he replied with an apologetic smile. He turned away from her, but she still stood there waiting. “If I may have a private word with my Seneschal, my lady,” he hinted politely.

 

“Oh, of course,” she noblewoman giggled. “Later, you will have to share a drink with me, Inquisitor.”

 

“Excuse me,” he smiled weakly and walked off with Leliana towards the ballroom. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered, his voice a whisper once more as they entered the golden light of the ballroom. “Where would hostile agents enter from? Briala seems to be sneaking hers in, according to Gaspard.”

 

“Ours have infiltrated in with the servants, more are being let in through several underground sewers. They won’t be fragrant, but they will be present.”

 

“Would Gaspard be bringing in his troops as well?” Cullen hissed.

 

“Inquisitor,” a man they were passing greeted him behind the mask.

 

“My lord,” Cullen smiled politely.

 

“You have beautiful eyes, Inquisitor, the colour of honey,” the man chuckled. “I wonder what else of you is sweet.”

 

“Excuse me, my lord,” Cullen hurried away with Leliana, willing away the embarrassed flush in his cheeks.

 

She looked at him critically. “I wouldn’t put it past the man to bring in some insurance,” she replied.

 

“Then we have the potential of a four-way battle here in the palace,” he hissed to Leliana.

 

“Give me some time, and I’ll give you more information,” she said. He nodded and she strode away through the ball.

 

“My lord Inquisitor?” Cullen did not wince as he turned to the woman from before. “Would you care to ask me for a dance?”

 

“No, thank you,” he replied again and turned to leave. He found Madame Vivienne and made his way to her. A glance over his shoulder assured him that the woman was no longer following him. Thank the Maker. “Feeling at home, Madame De Fer?” he asked as he joined Vivienne, his eyes scanning the crowd for the predatory noblewoman.

 

“Certainly,” she smiled, delicately holding a crystal champagne glass. “You haven’t embarrassed yourself as much as I feared. Well done, my dear.”

 

“The night is still young, Madame Vivienne,” Cullen smiled. A harried servant brought him a tray laden with glasses of champagne. Cullen took one, with four fingers, Maker’s breath. He tried a sip. the champagne was amazing. He indulged in another sip as he looked around the room at the masks. “I’ve always wondered what the Orlesian fascination is with masks.”

 

“We all wear masks, my dear. Not just the people in Orlais,” she smiled. “Who you are as a brother, a son, a lover, a friend, is not the same man who speaks for Andraste and leads the Inquisition. Orlesians codify this, make it visible. By giving each of these selves its own separate face, they believe they can be their truest selves, unmasked.”

 

“Interesting,” he mused. “I need to ask you about a member of the court, Madame Vivienne.”

 

“Ask away, my dear.”

 

“What do you know about Celene’s Occult Advisor?”

 

Vivienne snorted ever so delicately. “Keep an eye out for her, Inquisitor. I have no doubt she is involved in this somehow. I advise you to speak to the Council of Heralds. Six of them are here tonight. The seventh is apparently… indisposed. That will complicate matters. The Council are the highest-ranking players of the Game. They see everything. They might have something we can use.”

 

“I’ll see what we can--” He jumped then, a hand grasping him from behind in the behind. He gaped at the masked man from before. “Did you just-- touch my bottom?” he demanded, utterly shocked.

 

“I’m a weak man, Inquisitor,” the masked man chuckled.

 

“Marquis de Chardin,” Vivienne smiled. “How delightful to see that you haven’t changed a bit in years.”

 

“Madame de Fer,” the Maquis bowed. “A pleasure. We missed your spring salon this year!”

 

Cullen left, letting them speak. He got halfway down the ballroom before that woman from before intercepted him again. “Inquisitor,” she beamed.

 

“My lady,” he greeted. You’re not allowed to hit anyone, remember.

 

“Awe, smile, Inquisitor, you’re so handsome when you smile.” She touched his face with the lace edge of her folded fan.

 

He smiled tightly, pushing her fan away with firm politeness and stepping around her. She followed him. This was going to get bloody tiresome. Why were they chasing him? This was making him more nervous than talking to the Empress. How in Andraste’s name was he supposed to find an assassin with nobles following him like this?

 

“He is just as handsome when he doesn’t,” said a voice behind him.

 

Cullen tried not to wince. “Marquis,” he greeted, his voice tight and controlled.

 

“You can’t run about all evening, Inquisitor,” the Marquis said, following him. “Would you like a dance?”

 

“I’m afraid not, thank you,” Cullen replied politely. He sipped the champagne and realized the cup was now empty. Why did they give such small portions the richer you were? “I should-”

 

“Can I get you another drink, Inquisitor?” another woman asked, stepping beside him and taking the glass from his hand.

 

“No, thank you,” Cullen replied. No more drinks.

 

The first woman came to him. Cullen was pinned to the wall. “There you are! I thought you’d vanished,” she giggled loudly. Maybe the sound of her laugh echoed in the empty space inside her head, Cullen thought bitterly, trapped in a cocoon of nervous discomfort.

 

“I didn’t,” he sighed in resignation.

 

“My name is Lady Amelie.”

 

“And I am Suzette,” the second woman introduced herself.

 

“A pleasure,” he droned. There was no way to extract himself without being extremely rude.

 

“Are you married, Inquisitor?” asked the Marquis asked.

 

“Not yet, but I-- I am already taken,” he replied. He was, even though he and Evelyn barely had enough time to dine together in their preparations for the Winter Palace. Or talk about Laurent… Either way, it was bound to be more helpful than saying he wasn’t.  

 

“Still single, then?” the Marquis leered. It didn’t help at all, he realized.

 

“No, my lord.” Maker, help… Cullen crossed his arms instinctively. He could see their eyes looking at him through their masks, watching him like predators.

 

“You have truly beautiful eyes, Inquisitor,” cooed Suzette.

 

“Thank you, my lady.” A hand ran down his arm, making him lean away from the touch.

 

“Pardon me,” the Marquis chuckled. “This is amazing cloth.”

 

“Yes. Amazing.” Cullen’s skin crawled. Perhaps if he just bolted--

 

“Inquisitor?”

 

Cullen turned gratefully to Evelyn, cutting her way through the crowd to him. “My lords and ladies, you must pardon me, I am afraid I must steal away the Inquisitor for a time,” she smiled, stepping up next to him. Thank the Maker! “Give me your arm,” she hissed at him even as she smiled.

 

“Wha--” As his arms unfolded in his puzzlement, she slipped her arm into his. Her fingers tugged at the sleeve of his arm lightly and he moved away from the group. “I could kiss you,” he sighed in relief once he was away from them.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Evelyn smiled at him. “You know this won’t stop them, don’t you? But it may encourage them to think twice about coming after you.”

 

“Anything that will keep them away from me.”  

 

“Not enjoying the attention?”  

 

“Hardly,” he rolled his eyes. He glanced at her. “Anyway, yours--” He cleared his throat, dropping his voice to a soft murmur. “Yours is the only attention worth having.”

 

She glanced at him with an appreciative smirk. “Perhaps later you could save me a dance.”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Cullen caught his words. He sighed in exasperation. “I--I didn’t mean-- I’ve been saying no to so many dances, I’ve started answering it automatically.” He looked down at her as they stopped for a moment. “I mean yes, I… I actually would like to dance with you, Evelyn. I hope we get the chance.”

 

She chuckled, placing an affectionate hand on his arm. “You’re adorable,” she said warmly, their hips almost touching when they walked.Cullen was sure he heard gasps behind him. What in the Void… Her face turned serious then. “But we need to talk to Leliana for now. They’ve been trying to get to you. You can ask me to dance later.”

 

“As you wish, Commander.”

 

She led him to the Vestibule where Cassandra and Leliana were talking in a quiet alcove. They turned to them, both suddenly smiling in amusement as Evelyn let go of Cullen’s arm. “He was pinned to the wall by the Marquis de Chardin, Lady Amelie and Comtessa Suzette,” she reported, her eyes hard.

 

“I see you managed to rescue him,” Cassandra said mildly.

 

“It’s going to be difficult for the Inquisitor to move about if he has those suitors pawing at him everywhere he goes,” Evelyn replied, sounding annoyed.

 

“You’re on rescue duty,” Cullen said to her.

 

She snorted, her hand on her hip. The uniform was doing her all sorts of justice, even if she was the shortest one in the group. “I suppose I can live with that.”

 

“Have we made any progress?” Cullen asked Leliana, feeling so much safer away from the ballroom.

 

“Some,” Leliana replied. “There have been reports of a disturbance in the servant’s quarters beyond the guest wing. It should be investigated. I’ll coordinate with our agents to see if I can find anything better. I will be in the ballroom if you need me.”

 

Cullen nodded.

 

“I’ll have your equipment stashed by the door of the Servant’s Quarters,” Evelyn said. “Lieutenant Farrow will await you by the door.”

 

“I’ll round up Varric and Vivienne,” Cassandra said, looking eager.

 

“Were you that bored of the ball?” Cullen asked.

 

“Being around Orlesians and their frivolous Game does make me want to hit things,” she smiled and walked off. “We shall see you by the door.”

 

Evelyn looked up at him. “I’ll be within if you need me. I await your signal, Inquisitor.” She returned to the ballroom, Cullen’s eyes lingering on her hips as she walked. Cullen walked over to the guest wing, away from the Vestibule and the guests milling about there. The corridor to the guest wing was quiet and large, the grand library overlooking the corridor. He saw two servants whispering by a table, both of them elves.

 

He made a show of slowing to adjust his cuff as he approached them.

 

“...The package has been placed in the Guest Wing,” he caught the whisper of one. They turned to see him and frowned, walking away from him. From the corner of his eye, Cullen saw them stop at the top of the stairs. He lingered out of sight behind a massive statue.

 

“...Upper room’s balcony,” their whispers carried to him.

 

“The one off the garden? Good.”

 

Cullen walked on, his boots quiet on the floor. What package was this now? Those elves were most certainly Briala’s agents. He strolled into the Guest Wing, thankfully free of annoying suitors, though there were eyes upon him. This was almost like hunting apostates. Almost.

 

The guest wing was quieter than the ballroom, with no musicians to fill the air. Those who were here were either too drunk to stand or murmuring in hushed whispers. The Game was played everywhere, it seemed. He saw what looked like stains on the marble tiles, stains that Cullen distinctly recognized yet the nobles were ignoring. Blood. There was the smell of it here. The very thought that the Orlesians could stand about and sip sherry next to a pool of drying blood detested him.

 

A man in an ornate mask, far grander than any of the others save Gaspard and Celene, watched him from within an antechamber. “So, the Inquisitor is here, and a guest of my nephew, no less,” the man drawled.

 

Cullen walked over to join him. “His grace is your nephew?” he asked curiously.

 

The man sighed. “He is my brother’s eldest boy. Always a difficult child. Never listened, never did as he was told. He was raised a prince, and told he would be Emperor. It was his destiny, his duty. What else should he do with his life if not fight for his destiny?”

 

“A difficult position indeed, my lord,” Cullen replied. He saw the crest pinned to the man’s lapel.

 

“Truly. And now he postures before the Council. Ah, Gaspard.”

 

“Are you not a member of the Council, my lord?”

 

“As his uncle, I am not the one he postures before,” the man chuckled. “But I have taken up too much of your time, Inquisitor.”

 

Cullen smiled at him. “Another time then, my lord.”

 

He walked away. So the man was a member of the Council of Heralds and Gaspard’s uncle, no less. Someone nearly collided with him as he exited the door to the antechamber. “Pardon me,” a man in a half mask muttered. A servant, Cullen surmised. “I did not see where I was going. That Phillipe… He should have been back hours ago! Dallying with a servant girl while I deal with Gaspard’s vitriol?”

 

“Is he now?” Cullen replied.

 

“I’ve half a mind to inform the dowager, shirking his duties to roll some elven maid! Tonight of all nights!”

 

“Whatever demands your time must be important for you to be so flustered.”

 

“Alas, it is. Gaspard has all these death threats to deliver to the council. And I have to do it myself, apparently.” The man sighed and calmed down. “Thank you for listening to me rant, Inquisitor. You are too kind.”

 

Cullen merely smiled and left the man to his death threats. Maker, the Game made him feel filthy. He walked to the far room at the end of the Guest Wing, seeing nobles even here. They milled about, chatting, drinking, some sleeping. Two elves hovered at the end of the room, looking very concerned. Odd to see elves dressed as servants yet not serving drink or food. He stepped onto the empty balcony and looked about. This thing had to be somewhere.

 

He searched as discreetly as possible, standing as if idly taking in the fresh air, and frankly, he needed it after the stench of depravity within. He spotted it then, a small cylinder tucked at the foot of the verandah. He frowned as he picked it up. Within was a rolled parchment, listing names of agents who had gone into the Servant’s Wing. “Briala, we have a situation in the Servant’s Wing,” he read. “Send help.”

 

He tucked the item into his pocket and headed into the Guest Wing once more. So things were progressing. Was the assassin hiding in the servant’s wing? Once in the Guest Wing, he saw Varric walking up to him. “Inquisitor,” Varric called.

 

“Good, you’re here,” Cullen said. “We’ve got a situation.”

 

“Another one?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You might want to come with me, Inquisitor.”

 

“Is this urgent?”

 

“Well, depends. How much do we need the Council of Heralds anyway?” Varric asked. Cullen swore inwardly. Whoever they picked for the throne didn’t matter without the Council to legitimize them.

 

“Lead on, and quickly.”

 

Varric walked with him to the gardens. “Now do exactly as I do,” he was saying as he opened the door to the gardens. Lute music wafted through the doors. “And don’t make any eye contact with anyone.”

 

“Inquisitor,” someone called out to Cullen. He was beginning to hate hearing that word.

 

“Too late,” Varric muttered.

 

Three women approached him. “Inquisitor, we have a message from her Majesty,” one said.

 

Cullen was perplexed by how all women, donned in masks and turbans, looked exactly the same. “I’m always honored to hear from Her Majesty,” Cullen replied. Days of Josephine drilling him in etiquette was paying off, at least.

 

“Oh, she is the honored one, Inquisitor,” said another of the women.

 

Another chimed in, “Empress Celene is eager to assist the Herald of Andraste in his holy endeavour. She will pledge her full support to the Inquisition as soon as the usurper Gaspard is defeated.

 

“That is generous of Her Majesty,” Cullen replied. And odd, seeing as how she did not even want him at the Winter Palace to begin with.

 

“The Empress believes wholeheartedly that the Inquisition is our best hope for peace in these difficult times,” said one of the women.

 

“She looks forward to cementing a formal alliance, as soon as Gaspard is out of the way.”

 

Lies, Cullen thought to himself. He was being lied to to his face. He carefully tried not to scowl in disapproval.

 

“But we have taken too much of your time,” another spoke up. They curtseyed as one. “Please, enjoy the masquerade, Inquisitor.”

 

“Does that happen often?” Varric asked as the ladies walked away. “Beautiful women talking to you, sharing salacious secrets and offers…”

 

“The headache I’m developing is preferable to the attention,” Cullen growled. “What did you need me to do here, Varric?”

 

“This way,” Varric said. Cullen followed Varric through the garden, around the gathered nobles who were watching a lutist strumming away under the light of the moon. Varric came up to a trellis that lined the wall behind the assembled nobles. “Keep as quiet as you can and follow me.” To Cullen’s mild horror, Varric silently began to climb the trellis. Cullen glanced at the nobles, entranced by the music, and moved to follow Varric. The trellis wobbled under his weight, but he made it to the top safely. He dusted his knees, standing between the broken section of  the verandah. They were on a balcony that overlooked the garden. Cullen could smell a metallic tinge in the air. “Blood,” he said quietly.

 

Varric pointed. A trail of blood led to a door that opened to the balcony. “Maker’s breath!” Cullen sighed. “And no one gives a damn!”

 

“Wait till you see who’s inside.” Varric brought him to the door. Cullen opened it and his eyes hardened, his jaw set. There were corpses within, all dressed in the garb of nobility, lying among strewn parchment, some of which was covered with dark blood.. The room was filled with the stench of blood, heavy like iron. It was a slaughter within. He stepped forward carefully to one of the corpses, his boots avoiding the spattered blood. Something round and covered with blood was pinned to the lapel of the corpse. His thumb rubbed away the blood to reveal a streaked silver crest. “Council member,” he noted, straightening up.

 

“Yup,” Varric said.

 

“Where are the rest?” Cullen threaded his way to the door, avoiding the blood.

 

“Those guys are in the Parlour off the Garden,” Varric said, gathering up some of the papers. “It’s pretty exclusive, gentlemen only. You have to know someone to get in.”

 

“And how would you know this?”

 

“I was invited in.”

 

“Someone knew you to invite you into an exclusive parlour?”

 

“You wound me, Curly. Everyone knows me. Apparently my books sell really well in Orlais. I’m going to have to have a talk with my publisher.”

 

Cullen shook his head. But if they were in an exclusive parlour, what were the chances of a Tervinter assassin hiding among them? No, the assassin’s target was Celene and the destabilization of Orlais. The Council Members would be fine, for now. Varric was reading through some of the gathered sheets. “These are negotiations,” Varric said. “Someone was trying to bribe the Council of Heralds.”

 

“Really?” Cullen said. “Because I know Gaspard has been threatening to kill them.”

 

“Carrot and stick? No, Gaspard doesn’t seem the sort to be that subtle. He’s more of the stick kind of guy.”

 

“So I’m gathering.” Cullen frowned. “We need you at the entrance to the Servant’s Wing. There’s a situation there we’re going to have to settle. Could be fighting.”

 

“This party’s looking up! Brandy and fighting? It’s almost dwarven.”

 

“Varric, I need you to get these papers to Leliana and tell her to get an agent into that parlour. We’ll need eyes down there to make sure none of the other Council Members are killed. We’ll meet you at the Servant’s Wing.”

 

“You got it, Curly.” Varric turned to leave. “There’s a door off the balcony that takes you through the Grand Library. I already picked all the locks. Should be quicker to the ballroom.”

 

“You’re very useful to have around, Master Tethras,” Cullen grinned. “I’m so glad I didn’t arrest you all those years ago in Kirkwall.”

 

Varric grinned back over his shoulder. “I try, Curly.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG This chapter is a pain to write! I love to play the mission but sort of hate to write it. I can see what Bioware was doing planting false leads, but the more I write, the more I wonder why the Inquisitor is doing Leliana's agent's job? Oh well, let me know how this went. It's a heavy chapter. What are your opinions on it?


	20. Dances and Double-Dealings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every dance muddles the waters of the Game as Cullen tries to navigate way through the many traps of the Court, almost falling for one of them.

The bell started to ring when they got back to the vestibule, walking down the stairs from the Grand Library. Cullen swore. “I have to be in the ballroom,” he said to Varric. “Get those to Leliana. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. I’ll catch you three at the Servant’s Wing the first chance I get.” Varric nodded as he threaded his way through the nobles in the vestibule. Cullen was amazed at how quickly the dwarf moved. Just as he was about to follow, a hand was placed on his arm. Cullen resisted the urge to jump away from the grasp. It was Comtessa Suzette. “There you are, Inquisitor,” she purred.

 

“Comtessa,” Cullen said, backing away from her. “I must get back to the ballroom.”

 

“Walk in with me,” she smiled, “since we’re both going there anyway.” Her hand slipped into the crook of his arm, the other brazenly grasping his bottom, making him shudder in disgust and his hair stand on end. The mark flared suddenly, making Cullen’s heart stop in surprise. He clenched his marked fist and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t!” he snapped at it, and it stilled immediately. With a guilty look, he saw the comtessa staring at him in horror. She squeaked and pulled her arm free from him, hurrying away through the crowd. Cullen stared at her as she left him, then he sighed in relief. He looked down at the mark. “Thank you, I suppose,” he muttered to his hand.

 

“Well, well, what have we here?” a voice washed over him, deep and sultry. He lowered his hand immediately. “The leader of the new Inquisition, fabled Herald of the faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of the Blessed Andraste herself.” He turned to see a woman descending the stairs from the Royal Apartments, dark feathers at her shoulder, piercing yellow eyes, cutting through him. He frowned slightly, the tantalizing thread of recognition eluding his grasp. There was a hint of amusement in her voice as she joined him, her hands on the hips of her elaborate gown adorned with gold and the richest purple velvet.

 

“That’s what they tell me,” he said to her. She was different from the nobles, and Cullen couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d met her before.

 

“What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even you know?” she asked him.

 

“Do we know anything for certain with all the intrigues of the court?” Cullen asked. He frowned, looking closely at her. “Have we met, my lady?”

 

She chuckled. “T’would be no surprise you have no memory of me. You were not in your proper frame of mind when we first met. Do you not remember? The Circle in Ferelden? When we came upon you bound outside the Harrowing Chamber?”

 

Cullen’s eyes widened. He remembered faces behind Solona. Alistair, Wynne, whom he knew, and… this woman. He pushed the memories of the tower out of his mind. “I’m afraid I do not remember your name,” he replied. “Though I do remember you with Solona in the tower.” The bell began to ring again, beckoning them to the ballroom. Fashionably late, Cullen noted.

 

“Truly,” she said. “You were a pitiful sight for a Templar when we met, though now you have become greatly exalted. My name is Morrigan. Some call me advisor to the Empress on matters of the arcane.”

 

“A pleasure,” he replied. “I’ve heard much about you, Lady Morrigan.”

 

“I am as much a lady as you are a lord, Inquisitor,” she smiled at him. “Let them call us what they like. We know what we truly are. And you…” Her yellow eyes caught his as they walked down the vestibule to the ballroom. “...have been very busy this evening. Hunting in every dark corner of the Palace. Perhaps we hunt the same prey?”

 

“Do we?”

 

She laughed. “You are being coy.”

 

“Try cautious.”

 

“Not unwise, here of all places. Allow me to speak first then. Recently, I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very halls. An agent of Tevinter.”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed.

 

“So I offer you this, Inquisitor.” A key was placed in his hand, small and ornate. “A key, found on the Tevinter’s body. Where it leads, I cannot say. Yet, if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can.”

 

“I’m being kept very busy tonight,” he noted mildly, having some idea of which door the key might open. “And all I’ve had is a single glass of champagne.”

 

She smirked at him as they reached the door to the ballroom. “Proceed with caution, Inquisitor. Enemies abound, and not all of them align with Tevinter.” He held the door open for her as she swept in, moving through the crowd that parted for her as she proceeded to the Empress. Cullen tucked the key into a pocket. Music was playing within and the crowd on the dance floor twirled in time to the dance. Cullen recognized a familiar figure on the dance floor, donned in an Inquisition uniform. He stood at the mezzanine and squinted down. It was Evelyn dancing with a blonde noble in a mask, their hands lightly touching, their bodies coming close when they twirled. Cullen bit back the knot in his throat. It was just a dance. Nothing more. The music drew to a close, the partners on the dance floor faced each other. The noble bent gracefully to kiss Evelyn’s hand, then leaned in close to whisper something in her ear. Her laughter rang out over the dance floor as the noble lingered close to her.

 

Cullen was not angry. Not in the least. It was just a dance. There was no crime against dancing with other people. And yet there was a bitter taste of… something in his mouth.  He turned from the dance floor and left the ballroom. Every time he entered that place he found something new to infuriate him. He headed to the Servant’s Wing. Varric and the others must be there already. Farrow stood beside the door with packs set on the floor. He was kneeling before the lock, trying to pick it. “It’s possible that won’t work,” Cullen said, taking out the key. Farrow stood aside as Cullen they key turned in the lock with a click. “So it did work.”

 

“Where did you get that?” Cassandra asked.

 

“I think the Occult Advisor may be helping us,” Cullen replied, tucking away the key into a pocket. “Let’s hurry up, I need to get back to the ballroom.”

 

Varric and Cassandra glanced at each other worriedly.

 

++++

 

The silence and the smell of blood were warning enough. Within the Servant’s Wing, donned in their armour, Cullen and the others met with another scene of carnage. Elves strewn dead on the ground, their bodies and throats slit open, slaughtered like cattle. Blood covered the walls and floor where they were killed. Over the smell of death and blood came the strangely delightful scent of stew on the fire. “This is beyond even the Game,” Vivienne said behind them, a hint of sadness in her voice.

 

“Some of them don’t look like servants,” Varric pointed out.

 

“Probably Briala’s people,” Cullen said. He turned from the corpses, heading out of the kitchen into the gardens beyond. The apartments overlooked the garden, the pleasant sound of a fountain filling the night air rising over the unnatural quiet. There was a corpse by the fountain, a man in grand noble attire with a dagger in his back. Cullen stared at the crest in the dagger.

 

“That’s the Chalon family crest,” Vivienne noted. “Do be a dear and roll him over for me.”

 

Cullen rolled the man with the toe of his boot. Even he recognized the crest pinned to the man’s lapel.

 

“And there’s our ‘indisposed’ Council member,” Vivienne said.

 

“So Gaspard is killing them off after all,” Varric said. “Does this guy look out of place to anyone else, or is it just me?”

 

“We will need to have a word with his grace,” Cullen growled. “This is-”

 

A scream cut him off. An elven servant ran into the garden, her face the very image of fear. Her cries ended in a gurgle as she fell dead, revealing the figure in white bearing two daggers - white mask, white padded tunic and a feather in her cap: A Harlequin. Cullen drew his sword but the Harlequin smashed a vial onto the ground that erupted in a burst of acrid smoke. Cullen coughed as the smoke rolled over them. A figure appeared on the balcony above them, the Harlequin looking down with her impassive mask lined with red. Cullen started to cough, his eyes watering.

 

A bolt bounced off the wall beside her head. The figure did not flinch. She turned and stepped into the shadows of an apartment. Shouts rang out. Cullen saw soldiers charging him, their armour pointed and emblazoned with red. He blocked a blow with his shield, blinking away tears from the smoke. His sword countered, stabbing into the soldier’s side, reaching under the breastplate. “These are Venatori!” Cullen shouted.

 

“We found our killer!” Varric replied.

 

Cassandra was kicking a dead soldier off her sword as another was pinned to the wall with a blast of ice, screaming in rage until a crossbow bolt sprouted from his forehead, killing him with an expression of surprise on his face. Cullen swung his sword, swiping the blood off the blade. “Let’s get that damn clown,” he snarled.

 

“This way!” Vivienne snapped, leading them through the gardens.

 

“Watch for ambush!” Cullen warned. There were ambushes as they ran into the grand apartments, but expecting the ambush was half the victory. They ploughed through every ambush, Cullen’s sword dripping with blood by the time they reached the second floor. He could see the entrance to the kitchen that they had come from. The furniture in this room was covered with dust sheets. As Cullen ran in, an arrow whizzed through the air, smashing on his raised shield. Vivienne’s spells flew overhead with Varric’s arrows as Cullen and Cassandra charged the Venatori’s entrenched positions behind some crates. One of the soldiers was wreathed in ice. Cullen smashed his shield into the man, shattering him like a crystal statue. Cassandra’s battle cry echoed as she cut down a Venatori viciously. All around them, the agents were falling to spells or bolts or swords.

 

Cullen blocked a Venatori strike, raising his sword to kill him- when a dagger crunched into the man’s forehead. Cullen froze in surprise and turned to see an elf by the door. As the Venatori slumped to the ground dead, Vivienne, Cassandra and Varric turned to regard the elf. She smirked under her mask, adjusting the cuff of her simple but elegant tunic. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said to Cullen. “My reports said you were terribly boring, Inquisitor Rutherford. What a surprise!”

 

“I’m full of surprises,” Cullen growled, swiping the blood off his sword, but not sheathing it. “And you are?”

 

“We haven’t been properly introduced have we?” asked the elf. “I am Ambassador Briala.”

 

“How charming,” Vivienne drawled. “Ambassador now, are you? Ambassador of whom, exactly?”

 

“If the nobility is going to treat elves as if we are not citizens, we may as well have the trappings of a foreign power, Madame de Fer,” Briala drawled. She chuckled slightly as she joined them. “You’ve cleaned this place out, Inquisitor. It will take a month to get the Tevinter blood off the marble.”

 

“What are you doing here?” Cullen asked directly.

 

“I came to save or avenge my missing people, but you’ve beaten me to it.” She stepped out onto the balcony. Cullen followed her as she looked over the verandah at the corpse by the fountain. “That Council of Herald’s member down there. That’s not your doing?”

 

“He was dead when we arrived.”

 

“I believe you,” she laughed. “You may have arrived with the Grand Duke, but you don’t seem to be doing his dirty work.” She frowned under her mask as she crossed her arms. “I knew he was bringing in Chevaliers, but killing a Council Member? Smuggling Tevinter Assassins into the palace? Those are desperate acts. He must be planning to strike tonight.”

 

“And so everyone points fingers at everyone else,” Cullen snorted. “You could be just as responsible for the Tevinters being here, for all I know.”

 

“Such suspicion will serve you well, Inquisitor,” Briala smiled. “But it is misplaced this time. Do not let the words of the Grand Duke blind you. He’s Orlesian. That smile is his mask.”

 

“So I’ve heard,” Cullen grumbled. “If you didn’t let the Tevinters in, tell me who did.”

 

“You presume I know?” she asked archly.

 

“Don’t be coy with me, Ambassador,” he snapped.

 

She laughed almost playfully. “I don’t know yet, surprising at that is, but I will find out.” She smiled winsomely at him. “You are a refreshingly direct man, Inquisitor. Such a rarity in the Orlesian court. You might be the only one who can get things done.”

 

“Is that a compliment?”

 

“An observation. I know which way the wind is blowing. I’d bet coin that you’ll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. Tell me, Inquisitor, what could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal? You should think about it.”

 

He raised an eyebrow. He could see many benefits of having such an information network, though that would leave him with little military support from Orlais, something Gaspard seemed to be better able to offer. Then again, with a new ruler, Orlais would have to transition, which would take their attention away from the immediate threat of Corypheus. With Celene on the throne, this would not be an issue. He wished he could just bang all their heads together and tell them to bloody get along.

 

Still, here was the offer of elven spies. Perhaps he could use this. “You paint quite the pretty picture,” he replied.

 

“I do, don’t I?” she smiled coquettishly.

 

“Perhaps a show of good faith, then,” he offered. “We do have the difficulty of the Tevinter assassins.”

 

She chuckled. “We’ll see what we can do. And should you lean a little bit our way in the peace talks, it… could prove advantageous to us both.” With a final smile, she stepped back and leapt over the verandah.

 

“Does anyone take the stairs?” Varric muttered.

 

“More politics and double dealing,” Cassandra complained. “Is there anyone here who is not corrupt?”

 

“Why on earth did you give me this job?” Cullen grumbled.

 

Cassandra snorted. “Better you than me.”

 

“That’s not reassuring, Cassandra.”

 

“If Briala is offering you information, I advise you to question it, my dear,” Vivienne said. “She will tell you what you want to hear for your favour. She is that sort of ally.”

 

Cullen frowned. “She has the most to gain. Logically, that would make her the most loyal.”

 

“Or the most desperate.”

 

He sighed wearily. “Apostates were easier.”

 

“At least these abominations smell nicer, darling.”

 

++++

 

The bell had already rung twice before Cullen returned to the ballroom once more, donned in his uniform and leaving his armour with Farrow. He opened the ballroom door, hoping to speak to Evelyn and Leliana, only to be stopped by a person he did not expect. Grand Duchess Florianne turned to him, her gown flowing elegantly as she moved, like the wings of a moth. “Inquisitor Rutherford,” she smiled, her Orlesian accent and throaty voice almost alluring. “We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons. Welcome to my party.”

 

After all the offers of alliance, Cullen wasn’t surprised to find another seeking him out. “Why am I not surprised you wish to speak with me, your grace?” he asked, adjusting his glove.

 

She chuckled at that. “This is Orlais, Inquisitor, nothing happens by accident.” She seemed to be expecting something. Cullen remembered his lessons then, and offered her his arm. She smiled and slipped her arm into the crook of his. “I believe tonight you and I are concerned about the actions of… a certain person,” she murmured as they walked.

 

“Are we?” he asked.

 

She lay a hand on his arm. “Come, dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor.”

 

Cullen wanted to shake her instead, but the thought of Evelyn dancing with that noble. He had to calm down. He wasn’t upset over that. He had more important things to worry about. “Very well,” he said in a fit of pique. “Shall we dance, your grace?”

 

“I’d be delighted.”

 

They took their positions at the end of the ballroom. Cullen holding her fingers lightly the way he was taught. The music began to play. It was familiar, similar to the music Evelyn had trained him to. He stepped forward with the duchess, their hands spread, their steps deliberate. Like a sword drill, he thought. “You were recently stationed in the Free Marches, were you not?” she asked him. “How much do you know about our little war?”

 

“What should I know, your grace?” he asked.

 

“My brother and my dear cousin have been at each other’s throats too long,” she said. “It took great effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations, yet one party would use this occasion for blackest treason.” She turned to face him in the dance as Cullen moved automatically, matching her steps. “The security of the empire is at stake. Neither of us wishes to see it fall.”

 

He bowed to her in the dance as she curtseyed, the very image of grace. “Is that what we both want, your grace?” he asked, his suspicion carefully hidden. He trusted no one here.

 

They both rose once more, their hands touching as they side-stepped in the dance. “I hope we are of one mind on this,” she said.

 

“Suspicious times, Lady Florianne,” he said as she twirled in his hold, his hand settling on her waist. “It is difficult to tell friend from foe, is it not, your grace?”

 

She turned to face him, her fingers lightly upon his shoulder, their bodies spinning together in the dance. “I know you are a guest of my brother, and have been everywhere in the palace…” she went on, her eyes locking onto his, the smell of her perfume enveloping him. She was alluring, or trying to be. As they turned, she drew closer to him. “You are a ciriosity to many, Cullen,” she purred in his ear. Then her voice hardened slightly. “And a matter of concern to some.”

 

“And which am I to you, your grace?” he asked, feeling her fingers lightly stroke his neck.

 

She chuckled. “A little bit of both,” she murmured, her breath on his ear. “This evening is of great importance, Inquisitor. I wonder what role you will play in it. Do you even yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?”

 

“Can anyone in court be trusted?” he asked as she stepped away from him, taking the cloud of perfume with her. He set his hand on her side as they turned in the dance, their steps following the music like a beating heart. His eyes were intent as he watched her slightly smiling at him, her fingers brushing his body in what he doubted were accidental caresses as they turned. The room around them was a blur, all he watched was this woman whom he did not trust. She spun in the dance, stepping close to him once more. “It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight,” she whispered in his ear, her body pressed against his.

 

“Are not dangerous machinations the national sport in Orlais?” he asked as the music swelled, her body turning in his arms, moving as if she were leading the dance. He dipped her back, the smooth column of her neck revealed as her eyes locked on his. What was that in her expression? Amusement? To his utter surprise, heard clapping around him. He realized that they were the only ones left on the dance floor.

 

“You don’t have much time, Cullen,” she breathed as she straightened up. “The attack will come soon. In the Royal Wing, you will find the captain of my brother’s mercenaries. He will tell you all of Gaspard’s secrets, should you persuade him to be forthcoming.”

 

They parted as she music ceased. Cullen bowed to her. “We shall see what the night brings,” he said, turning to walk away from her.

 

He climbed the stairs from the dance floor to the mezzanine, blushing at the attention. Maker, he didn’t even realize they were alone on the dance floor. Josephine hurried up to him, smiling brightly. “That will be the talk of the court for months,” she said breathlessly. “We should bring you dancing more often.”

 

“Andraste preserve me,” Cullen exclaimed.

 

“Oh, the movement, the passion - what a surprise to see from you,” Josephine gushed. “So romantic…”

 

“Yes, so romantic,” Evelyn drawled as she joined them, her face impassive.

 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Cullen said, a hint of bitter sarcasm in his voice. Evelyn frowned slightly.

 

“Were you dancing with Duchess Florianne?” Leliana breathed in surprise as she joined them.

 

“May we move on? There is an issue in the Servant’s Wing,” Cullen said crisply. No more talk about dancing. This whole affair was ridiculous.

 

“Yes, I heard there was fighting,” Evelyn said, folding her arms, her blue eyes hard as she regarded him.

 

“The Occult Ambassador helped me into the Servant’s Wing,” Cullen reported, folding his arms. “There were Venatori agents and a dead Council member with a Chalon dagger in his back.”

 

“Gaspard has resorted to outright murder?” Leliana shook her head. “The man would truly do anything to become Emperor.”

 

“I didn’t say it was him.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know yet,” Cullen shook his head. “Just a suspicion.”

 

“Then the attack will happen tonight,” Evelyn said, setting a hand on her hip.

 

“Warning Celene is pointless,” Josephine said. “She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat.”

 

“Then maybe we should let her die,” Leliana said coldly.

 

Cullen looked at her thoughtfully. “Go on, Leliana.”

 

“Corypheus wants to destabilize Orlais. Even with Celene as Empress, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the empire must remain strong. Someone must emerge victorious tonight.”

 

“And… it doesn’t have to be Celene,” Evelyn murmured.

 

“Do you realize what you’re suggesting?” Josephine gasped.

 

“Sometimes the best path is not the easiest,” Leliana said softly.

 

“Ideally, we have them all,” Cullen muttered, lost in thought.

 

The three women looked at him. “A truce?” Evelyn asked.

 

“Then you will need a lot of evidence to compel them to agree,” said Leliana.

 

“I may have a lead,” Cullen said. “Florianne tells me that Gaspard’s mercenary captain is in the Royal Wing, and that he knows about the assassination.”

 

“Then we will need him,” Evelyn said. “His testimony would be invaluable. If it isn’t a trap.”

 

“We have no choice, do we?” Cullen asked. “Either way, I have to get in. Get the door to the Royal Wing open for me, then,” he said to Leliana. “And have Farrow meet us there with our gear, Evelyn. And get your soldiers into position.”

 

“At once,” Leliana said.

 

“Be careful, Inquisitor,” Evelyn murmured. She turned and gestured to two nobles lingering by them, one of whom was the blond she had danced with. An agent of hers?

 

Cullen stepped out of the ball room. He had no time to think about personal things now. He had to get the others and assemble at the royal wing. He sought Cassandra out in the Vestibule, but she was nowhere to be found. Perhaps Varric then… As he turned to head to the Guest Wing, he was accosted by Lady Amelie, who came to him walking purposefully, setting a hand on his chest. He backed away from her immediately and realized he’d stepped into shadow between a statue and the wall of its nook. “Lady Amelie-” he began, his shoulder blades digging into the wall as she pulled off her mask and kissed him, her hand on the back of his neck. Cullen screamed inside.

 

He grasped her shoulders and pushed her away from him, terror evident in his eyes as he slipped around the statue and out the other side of the nook, wiping his lips as he practically staggered out into the light, still screaming inside. Amelie emerged from the nook, the neck of her gown suddenly mussed. Cullen stared at her. He hadn’t even touched her!

 

“Inquisitor,” she purred at him, blushing artfully. “How forward of you-”

 

“Amelie!” a voice cracked behind him. Cullen resisted the urge to flinch. But it was Evelyn, striding over, her eyes flashing. “My dear Lady Cambienne, trying this old trick again?”

 

“Lady Trevelyan,” Amelie glared at her and slipped her mask on. “You are interrupting a very private-”

 

“I know what I’m interrupting,” Evelyn drawled. “May I compliment you on your shoes, dear lady? A surprise you can afford emeralds and pearls, considering the state of your last investment. You have little else left to you but your title. Who have you bedded to buy those lovely slippers, hm?”

 

Amelie sputtered in rage behind her mask. “You dare accuse me of-”

 

Evelyn folded her arms. “And your dear son - Jacques, I believe it was? Are you perhaps trying the old Honey Trap trick on the Inquisitor in the hopes that you may be able to bribe his way into the Chevaliers at last?”

 

Amelie gaped at her, sputtering behind her mask. “You filthy Free Marchers know nothing of the Game!”

 

“I know enough to warn you, Amelie,” Evelyn purred, her voice promising pain. “Don’t touch my things.”

 

Amelie gathered her skirts in rage, her collar still undone as she stormed away with her emerald and pearl slippers flashing in the light. Cullen stared at Evelyn, his hand still over his mouth. Evelyn let out a slight sigh. “Come with me, Inquisitor, perhaps I should brief you on something.” She led him away from the vestibule into a side room off the entrance to the Guest Wing. Cullen’s face was burning still as she shut the door behind him. “What in the Maker’s name was that?” he croaked when they were alone. “I didn’t even touch her! How did-”

 

“It’s called the honey trap,” Evelyn smiled at him. “She compromises you somehow in the hopes that you’ll have to pay her in apology for allegedly dishonoring her.”

 

He lowered his hand from his mouth. “But I didn’t even-”

 

She sighed and went to him, rubbing his lips with the arm of her sleeve. “It doesn’t matter if you did or not,” she said. “It’s what everyone else thinks. Maker, she smeared a lot of lipstick on you.”

 

“I hate Orlais!” Cullen burst out at last. He let out a sigh of frustration and ran his hands over his face. “Oh, Maker, give me strength…”

 

Evelyn snorted and bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “I’m sorry this has been such a horrible night, Cullen,” she said honestly. “It’s almost over. She’ll leave you alone now, but you need to make your way to the Royal Wing.”

 

“I know,” he sighed. “I know. I just really-”

 

“Are too decent for the Orlesian Court, perhaps,” she finished. “Just calm down. We have a job to do.”

 

“Right,” he shook his head. “Maker! Do I-- Do I have anything else on my face?”

 

She frowned, her fingers on his chin. “Hang on, I think there might be,” she muttered, tiptoeing to get a closer look.

 

“What is it?” Cullen asked, standing still as she peered at his cheek. Her perfume was sweet, tinged with the scent of her skin. 

 

She dropped a light kiss on his cheek then. “Oops, just me,” she grinned at him. “My mistake.”

 

Cullen stared at her incredulously and then, despite himself, started to laugh, groaning as he buried his face in his palm.

 

She laughed. “Good. That’s the first smile all evening,” she said brightly. “Now back to your serious face. We both have a lot of work to do.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awe, Cullen, you big silly lug. Why do you fall for the traps? Way to much politics in this chapter. The dialogue is over 9000. What are your thoughts on the chapter? Not enough action?


	21. The Triumvirate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen brings the events of Halamshiral to a close at last.

“Are we going to sneak around in the Empress’s unmentionables now?” Varric asked as they entered the Royal Wing, once more donned in their armour. “Just how drunk are you boss?”

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be that drunk, Varric,” Cullen muttered, climbing the stairs of the dimly lit and silent apartments.

 

“You won’t believe some of the things I’ve heard her do,” Vivienne chuckled.

 

“I don’t want to know, Madame Vivienne,” Cullen said firmly. They walked with weapons drawn, ears peeled for any noise in the quiet wing. Moonlight streamed in through the open atrium, filling the area with silver light. It was actually pleasant, if it didn’t stink of dishonesty and double-dealings. There was a sudden scream from one of the apartment doors. They ran towards it, throwing the door open. An elf was on the ground, crawling back from a Harlequin, who turned to see them. A dagger was thrown at Cullen’s head. He blocked it with his shield and charged the clown, who raised her arms in defence. Cullen didn’t bother. He leveled a kick at her. She screamed as she fell back out the window, landing in a sickening thud below.

 

“That was easy,” Varric muttered.

 

Cullen turned to the elf on the ground. He reached out to help her up. She was slight, as all elves were, her eyes filled with fear, her garb a simple servant’s outfit. “Thank you,” she gasped as he pulled her to her feet.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked her.

 

“Yes,” she muttered, holding her arm where she’d fallen on it. “No one’s supposed to be here… Briala said… I shouldn’t have trusted her.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I knew her from before,” she said. “When she was Celene’s pet. Now she wants to play revolution? But I remember… She was sleeping with the empress who purged our alienage!”

 

Varric whistled low in surprise.

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Can you testify to that?” he asked.

 

“I can! And I will! After she tried to kill me…” The elf was vehement.

 

“Why are you here again?”

 

“Because this is Duchess Florianne’s room. Briala sent me here to search the place, little did I know there would be someone here trying to kill me.”

 

“Then make your way to the ballroom. Look for Commander Trevelyan, she will keep you safe. Short, dark hair, dressed in an Inquisition uniform. You can’t miss her, she isn’t that short.”

 

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” said the elf and she ran past the others.

 

Cullen looked around the room. Varric was already snooping in drawers. “Should you be doing that?” Cullen asked.

 

“Who’s to really say what’s right or wrong in the world?” Varric asked.

 

“Spoken like a true thief,” Cassandra said.

 

“You wound me, Seeker,” Varric chuckled. He kept some papers from a drawer. “Red may be able to use these.”

 

“That’s fine with me,” Cullen said. “Let’s just-” He stopped as his mark started to sting. He winced and looked down at it, glowing fitfully.

 

“What’s wrong?” Cassandra asked.

 

“A rift. Or demons. Or both,” Cullen growled. “Nearby.”

 

They stepped out and passed another door. “This is Celene’s quarters,” Vivienne said.

 

“Then I guess we’d better knock,” Varric said, drawing out delicate lock picks.

 

“Even Farrow couldn’t get into the servant’s quarters,” Cullen pointed out as Varric knelt before the lock, already working on it. “What more the Empress’s--”

 

The lock turned. “Farrow isn’t me,” Varric chuckled.

 

Cullen snorted. “Point taken.”

 

“You’re actually laughing,” Varric said. “What put you in such a good mood?”

 

“It’s a long story,” Cullen muttered, touching his cheek.

 

“Hello?” they heard as soon as the Empress’s door was opened. “Hello? Is someone there?”

 

Cullen took point and entered, his sword low and ready. On a raised dais at the other end of the room was Celene’s huge and ornate bed. Otherwise, the room seemed devoid of people. “Hello?” came the voice again.

 

Cullen climbed the dais and quickly turned away. “Oh, sweet Maker!” he exclaimed, blocking his view of the man on the bed with his outstretched hand. The soldier was naked and bound to the bed with red velvet ropes. Oddly, he was still wearing his helmet.

 

Cassandra sputtered. “Do you see this?” she demanded of him.

 

“No.”

 

Varric snorted behind him, trying to contain his laughter.

 

“It’s not what it looks like!” the soldier exclaimed. “Believe me, I wish it were what it looks like.”

 

Cullen snorted at that. “No doubt,” he muttered and flicked the sheet with the tip of his sword to cover the man, giving him some decency. There were ladies about after all. “What… happened?”

 

“The Empress led me to believe I would be… rewarded for betraying the Grand Duke!”

 

“Celene left you naked and trussed up like a goose on her bed? As a reward?”

 

“This… was not what I hoped for.” The soldier had the decency to blush.

 

“I can imagine what you hoped for,” Cullen said. “Someone make Varric stop laughing!”

 

“Please, I beg you, don’t tell Gaspard!”

 

“You’re going to have to make that offer a bit more attractive for me,” Cullen said. “Not like that! I meant information! Varric - seriously, shut up!”

 

Varric covered his mouth, snorting behind his hand.

 

“The Empress beguiled me into giving her information about… troop movements in the palace tonight. She knows everything! Everything! The Duke’s surprise attack has been countered before it ever began! She’s turned it into a trap. The moment he strikes, she’ll have him arrested for treason.”

 

“Clever Celene,” Vivienne smirked. “Even I’m impressed.”

 

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Cassandra sneered. “Celene for using such a tactic or him for falling for it.”

 

“Every man needs a vice, Seeker,” Varric said, his voice tight from trying not to laugh. “Bound to his desires, he’s found himself tied up in a sticky situation.”

 

Cullen groaned. “Maker’s breath, dwarf, this is serious! Those puns are beneath you!”

 

“Cut me some slack, Inquisitor! I’m at the end of my rope here!”

 

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

 

Cullen turned back to the soldier. “I need you to testify to whatever you just told me.”

 

“I’ll do anything! Anything!”

 

He sighed and cut the man free. “Get something to cover yourself and head to the door to the Vestibule. There’s a man there named Farrow. He’ll… get you decent.”

 

“Thank you!” the soldier breathed and ran out with a sheet around his waist.

 

“Well, that was--” Varric began.

 

“If you make another pun…” Cullen warned Varric.

 

“I was going to say ‘Orlesian’ but I guess I got a little… tongue tied.”

 

“Maker, I hate you sometimes, dwarf!”

 

“If we could carry on instead?” Vivienne said primly.

 

Cullen looked at the door adjoining the bed area. “Varric, can you get that door open? In silence?”

 

Varric chuckled and went over to the door, drawing out his lockpicks. It took a longer time to open this door. “Damn this must be quite the door,” Varric muttered as the others waited by him. Cullen idly looked about at the little nooks in the wall that lined the door. He saw a halla statue that actually looked like it was carved out of whitest marble. As Varric fidgeted with the lock, Cullen reached up to take a look at the statue. It moved when his fingers touched it, seeming to click into place, and the lock in the door suddenly clanked open.

 

“Got it!” Varric exclaimed.

 

“Well done,” Cullen said with a straight face, lowering his arm.

 

Cassandra shook her head, smiling at him. Cullen just shrugged as Varric pushed the door open. “You’ve managed to get into her vault,” Vivienne said.

 

Cullen stepped inside. There was a velvet box set on a table. As Cullen expected, Varric made a beeline towards it. “What’s this now?”

 

“I’m beginning to realize you like thieving, dwarf,” Cullen noted.

 

“It’s not thieving. This is investigation,” Varric replied. “And this,” he said as he held up the open box, “Is an elven locket.”

 

“What?” Cullen blinked, stepping forward to look at it. It was indeed elven, carved of heartwood.

 

“An elven locket stored away in the a palace safe. Unwise, Celene,” Vivienne said.

 

“Is this Briala’s?” Cullen asked.

 

“We could find out,” Cassandra replied. “We know enough now to confront Celene at least.”

 

Cullen looked down at the locket, turning it in his hand. “So they could still love each other,” Cullen mused.

 

“Romantic, isn’t it?” Varric said.

 

“I was thinking more in terms of an alliance,” Cullen replied, keeping the locket in his waist pack. “Maybe with enough arm twisting, we will have a functional Orlais.”

 

“Ah, eyes on the prize, right.”

 

Cullen’s mark flared again, firing up his arm. He hissed and balled his hand into a fist. “Stop it!” he snapped at the mark. It fitfully faded, but the pain still burned in his arm. “What’s the matter with you?”

 

“Does he always do that?” asked Vivienne.

 

“Yes,” Varric and Cassandra replied together.

 

“How quaint.”

 

Cullen shook his hand. “There is a rift somewhere nearby,” he said. “This thing acts up around them. We should hurry on.”

 

There was only one more door left to check on the floor, a room that led off to a part of the wing that was undergoing refurbishment. Sheets covered the furniture here, planks and scaffolding lined the walls. Cullen winced as the mark flared again.

 

“You fucking painted Orlesian arse holes!” a voice shouted from beyond a door to the garden. “When I get out of here, I’ll have your guts for garters!”

 

With the mark firing up and down his arm, Cullen ran through the door and into the sights of arrows. “Fuck,” he snapped. What was he thinking? They’d walked into an ambush, archers training their arrows onto Cullen and his party, arrow tips glinting in the light of a rift in the middle of the small garden.

 

“Inquisitor! What a pleasure! I wasn’t certain you’d attend.”

 

Cullen looked up beyond the rift where, of all people, Duchess Florianne stood on a balcony overlooking them. Cullen his his flaring mark behind his back. “You’re such a challenge to read. I had no idea if you’d taken my bait.”

 

“I am but a humble ex-Templar, your grace,” Cullen called back. “You’d think I’d be very easy to read. But I’m a little busy right now to be exchanging petty quips with you.”

 

She laughed. “I can see that. Such a pity you did not save one final dance for me. And it was so kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was so tired of your meddling.”

 

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “Do stop gloating, my dear,” Vivienne called up to Florianne. “It is quite unbecoming and most certainly premature.”

 

“You won’t be able to do anything, Madame de Fer. Corypheus insisted that the Empress die tonight, and I’d hate to disappoint him.”

 

“For what?” Cullen barked. “Becoming a god king on earth? Ruling the world? More stupid promises?”

 

“I do not expect that you understand what Samsom and I have planned for the world, my dear ex-Templar,” Florianne purred as she regarded her nails. “Nevertheless, I will not disappoint the Elder One.”

 

“He’s used to it,” Varric snapped.

 

“Not this time. In their darkest dreams, no one imagines I would assassinate the Empress myself. Celene will die, and Orlais will be plunged into chaos.”

 

“If she goes ‘muhaha’ I’m going to shoot someone,” Varric grumbled.

 

“All I need is to keep you out of the way while I strike,” Florianne went on, not hearing Varric. She smiled down at Cullen, a finger coquettishly on her lip. “A pity you’ll miss the rest of the ball, Inquisitor. You were such an alluring dance partner. I’m sure these gentlemen will suffice for your final dance.” She waved her hand at the Venatori soldiers as she turned to leave. “Bring me his marked hand.”

 

Bows were drawn back further and the arrows flew, time seeming to still as Cullen let the mark . “Now!” The mark burst from behind him, its energy pushing back the arrows as if they and hit a wall of green fire. But the rift flared and split open in response, demons pouring out.

 

The Venatori started to charge them with swords. “Vivienne! Field!” Cullen barked.

 

Sound stilled as Vivienne’s disruption field sprung up around them. Those who were trapped in it were quickly dispatched with bolts to the head by Varric. Beyond, the others were being torn apart by shades. A demon of rage was crawling through the rift, filling the courtyard with glowing red as it set Venatori alight with pillars of fire. The screams of the dead and dying were muted through the field.

 

“That’s Corpyheus’s world,” Cassandra growled. “Demons and Venatori.”

 

“How long can you hold this?” Cullen asked Vivienne.

 

“Long enough for them all to die, my dear,” Vivienne said calmly. “But those demons left over will need killing.”

 

“Let them do our dirty work for us, then.”

 

“I’m surprised you know when to effectively use a disruption field,” she said to him. “Templar training should be commended.”

 

“One’s coming this way!” Varric exclaimed as the rage demon began to lumber over to them.

 

Cullen braced himself. “Drop the fie-” he began when a blade suddenly burst through the rage demon’s body, glowing red from the heat. The blade was wrenched through the beast, cutting from its belly through its head, splitting it in half. As the pieces of demon fell away, they revealed the blonde noble, his two-handed blade flashing red. “Drop the field!” Cullen barked.

 

The field flickered out and the party burst forward to attack. Killing the dregs of the demons and closing the rift was textbook. As he shook the flaring mark still, Cullen turned to the blond noble. “You need to hurry, Inquisitor,” said the noble with a deep throaty voice and a clipped Orlesian accent. Cullen frowned. “Are you-”

 

The noble pulled off his mask. He turned out to be a she. “Ser Laurent?” Cullen exclaimed. She was wearing a male’s doublet and breeches.

 

“Commander Evelyn sent me to fetch you quickly,” Laurent said, catching her breath. “The Empress is close to concluding the peace talks. She now gives a speech to the entire court. You need to get back to the Ballroom now.”

 

“Oi! Don’t leave me here!” Cullen turned to see a man tied to a post at the edge of the garden. He looked and sounded Fereldan, with a balding head and the remnants of a grizzled beard. “You’re Fereldan? You sound Fereldan, not like these Orlesian arse holes!”

 

Varric was already cutting the man free as Cullen approached him. “Andraste’s tits, what was all that?” the man breathed, looking at the dead Venatori and demons. “Were those fucking demons in the Winter Palace?”

 

“Good eye,” Cullen muttered.

 

“Maker! I knew Gaspard was a bastard, but I didn’t think he’s feed me to fucking horrors over a damn bill!”

 

“Gaspard?” Cullen blinked. “You’re his Mercenary Captain?”

 

“Yeah, the Duke wanted to move on the palace tonight, but he didn’t have enough of his fancy Chevaliers. In the end, he had to triple our pay to get us out here - stinking poncy cheesemonger.”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Want a new job?” he asked.

 

“You wot?”

 

“The Inquisition could always use a good mercenary company.”

 

“You hiring? Fine - certainly better than this bullshit. You want me to speak to the Empress, or the court, or sing a blasted song for the Chantry, I’ll do it.”

 

“Good. Get your company over to Skyhold. We’ll settle you in there.”

 

“Fine, I’m getting out of here,” said the man. “Who are you anyway?”

 

“I’m-- the Inquisitor.”

 

“Maker’s balls!” The man bowed. “Then it’s an honour, ser. You’ve got Frederick and the Cutters at your service. We’ll see you in Skyhold.”

 

“Inquisitor,” Ser Laurent urged.

 

“Right.” They started back to the ballroom, running through the halls. Cullen found himself running beside Laurent. He glanced at the woman. “I didn’t know you were already acquainted with the Commander before this,” he said as they ran.

 

“We were close,” Laurent’s reply came back tightly.

 

Cullen glanced at her. “How close?”

 

Laurent looked at him as they ran, her eyes glittering through the slits of the mask. “Close.” There was a hint of challenge in her voice.

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. So that’s how it was. He almost regretted asking.

 

“Perhaps next time we can discuss this further, Inquisitor.”

 

“Perhaps.” He left it at that. They changed quickly before heading back to the Ballroom, Cullen striding ahead of the rest with Ser Laurent at his side. His hands were adjusting his cuffs. Maker, the number of times he’d put on this uniform at top speed, it was like surprise inspections back at the Templars. He pushed opened the doors to the ballroom and glared at a figure across the hall, donned in white, walking next to her brother as they chatted idly. “You’re back!” he heard a hissed whisper. Evelyn strode to him. “The Empress will conclude her speech shortly, the assembled dignitaries will have a chance to speak.”

 

“The Grand Duchess is the one we want,” Cullen jerked his chin to the woman. Evelyn looked at Florianne. “She’s an agent of Corypheus, and we need her dead.”

 

“Our men are ready, Inquisitor,” Evelyn said, her eyes hard. “But may I make a suggestion. We could expose her before the court. There is a chance, a small one, that she may not escalate it in full scrutiny of the court.”

 

“You think that will work?”

 

“Will anything work with crazy? All I know is that Florianne is as much a creature of the Game as Celene, or Briala. You may be able to pressure her into not escalating. If not, our men stand ready.”

 

Cullen cringed inwardly at the thought of going before the entire court. But he’d be damned if he’d let Florianne have the satisfaction of killing the Empress. Social death was far more painful than actual death. And he knew all about social pains. “Let’s do this your way, Commander,” he said. “Get your men in position regardless.”

 

“They will be,” she said, looking up at the rafters.

 

He glanced up at the shadows beyond the chandeliers in the shaded arches. “Who are we got up there?”

 

“Sera,” she replied. “Rylen’s kept her pretty calm so far. Maker knows how he did it. She’ll give Florianne a quick send off to the Maker if we need to.”

 

“I’ll leave this in your good hands, Commander,” he said and made his way through the hall as Florianne, Gaspard and Briala gathered at the head of the ballroom, Celene standing above them at the mezzanine. By her side, in the shadows, was Morrigan. Cullen descended the stairs and crossed the empty dance floor. Florianne’s back was turned to him. She didn’t know he was still alive!

 

“Duchess Florianne,” he said, standing at the foot of the stairs. He wished he could have seen her face. Her body froze before turning to him.

 

“I think I still have time for that last dance, you talked about,” he said, anger bubbling barely beneath the surface. He wanted to see her fall tonight, in every way possible.

 

“Inquisitor?” she snarled softly.

 

“Smile, Florianne. Everyone’s watching our little dance.” He climbed the stairs as she backed away from him, his fingers idly tugging at the glove on his left hand. “This is your party, after all. They’d hate to think you’d lost control of everything, expecially after your archers failed to kill me in the gardens.” There were gasps throughout the hall. Morrigan was inching closer to the Empress, who watched the scene unfold. “All you needed was to keep me out of the ballroom long enough to strike, you said. Along with my marked hand for your master Corypheus.” He held up his hand, the mark flared to the gasp of the crowd. Cullen was feeling his heart beating a little faster with an odd, tense excitement.

 

“Those are… serious accusations, Inquisitor,” Florianne laughed nervously, her eyes darting to the watching nobles. Briala and Gaspard backed away from her.

 

“You could have finished the job as you did in the Servant’s Wing,” he went on mercilessly, all the pieces falling into place in his mind. “Or did you use your last Chalon dagger framing your brother for the murder of the Council Member?” He heard Gaspard snort in disgust.

 

The gasps were echoing through the hall now. Celene raised her hand for quiet and the murmurs dimmed. “It was not a bad plan, Florianne,” Cullen went on. “Celene, Gaspard, the Council of Heralds - All your master’s enemies under one roof.”

 

Florianne backed from him further. “That is very entertaining,” she sneered. “But you do not think that anyone would believe such wild stories! You have no proof!”

 

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin,” said Celene, her voice as cold as marble.

 

She turned to Gaspard. “Gaspard!” she breathed. “You cannot believe this! You know I would never--”

 

Gaspard did not let her finish. He shook his head and turned away from her. The Royal Guard began to descend the stairs towards Florianne. She watched them descend upon her, step by step. Cullen saw the fear in her eyes, saw her hand reach for the dagger under her bodice. He had no sword! He rushed forward as Florianne turned to Celene. Morrigan’s hand fired off a spell just as Sera let her arrow fly. Florianne gurgled as the arrow pierced her head from the back of her skull and out her mouth, even as the ice crept from her legs to her body, shrouding her in bitter chill, turning red where her blood dripped onto it.

 

The Court erupted in a cacophony of shock and screams. Celene looked out over the court, her eyes flashing. “I will have calm!” she boomed. Her voice echoed to the rafters where Cullen heard sniggering. “Lords and ladies of the court, I beg you to stay your fear and remain calm. Our peace talks have been mired by blackest treason, but there still is a chance for peace. We will adjourn while this… Duchess is removed from our midst.” She looked down at Cullen. “Inquisitor, I bid you join us.”

 

Cullen bowed. He walked past Florianne, frozen in place with her hand grasping her dagger. She had come close. Now, for the difficult part. He climbed the stairs and found an arguement already begun among the three dignitaries who gathered at a private balcony. “...denying your involvement,” Briala was saying.

 

“I do deny it!” Gaspard cried. “I knew nothing of Florianne’s plan!”

 

“Enough!” Celene snapped as Cullen joined them. “We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against us! For the safety of the Empire, we will have answers!”

 

Eyes turned to Cullen. He sighed, his excitement winding down to be replaced with a dull throbbing in his head. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered.

 

“What have you to say, Inquisitor?” Celene asked.

 

“You’re all responsible for allowing this to happen!” Cullen snapped.

 

Celene’s gaze turned frosty. “That is a bold claim, Inquisitor. Are you prepared to defend it?”

 

“You allowed the Grand Duke to sneak soldiers in,” he said to Celene. “You were hoping he would make a politically foolish move. And you, your grace. You took the bait! I met your mercenary captain. You were prepared to attack tonight! And Briala was playing you both. She murdered your ambassadors sent to speak to the Council of Heralds - though I don’t think she was thinking to kill one of the council itself. And there were papers - forged documents to you both!”

 

Briala snorted. “Even if I did, you can’t touch me.”

 

“And who will defend you when they learn you and Celene were lovers when she burned Halamshiral’s alienage?” Cullen glared at the elf. He was so sick of games.

 

Celene glared at him. “You’ve made your point,” she said coldly. “What do you want?”

 

“You three are the best minds in Orlais!” Cullen said, exasperated. “Imagine what you could do for Orlais and your people if you just… stopped bloody fighting and worked together!”

 

Celene smirked. “It is remarkably… optimistic to believe that the three of us could forget our differences, Inquisitor.”

 

“But necessary,” Cullen said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “There is a bigger world than Orlais, and Orlais must play its part if this world is to survive. There is a greater game you are called to play, and to the death. If Corypheus wins, all your machinations will be for naught when he destroys everything you hold dear.”

 

Celene looked at Gaspard and then at Briala. “Then Orlais must play her part in the world.”

 

There were speeches. Lots of them. Cullen said some things he knew was appropriate, and then there was applause. After which came the toasts and even more speeches. He snuck away, his head throbbing as the headache caught up with him, now that the adrenaline was gone. He headed to the private balcony and leaned on the railing, the music from within distant.

 

A voice startled him and made him turn. “The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your vistory and yet you are not present to hear them,” smiled Morrigan as she sauntered over to Cullen. The woman could certainly saunter.

 

“Lady Morrigan,” he greeted, relieved that it was just her. She seemed disinclined to make speeches. He turned back to the railing.

 

“Do you tire of their adoration, Inquisitor?” she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Tis most fickle, especially after all your efforts on their behalf.”

 

Cullen sighed. “I can only endure so many speeches in one night, my lady,” he said. “I should thank you for your help back there.”

 

She chuckled. “T’was my duty to protect Celene, after all. Let us see if you would thank me for this piece of news then,” she said. “By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid - including mine. Congratulations.”

 

“What do you have to offer?” he asked bluntly.

 

“Knowledge, Inquisitor,” she smiled. “I have knowledge that falls beyond the realm of most mages. I suspect this is also true ot Corypheus. Thus, it behooves you to add to your arcane arsenal, yes?”

 

“Blood magic?”

 

She seemed to take a deep breath. “I know many obscure, forgotten and forbidden arts, some of which you might consider blood magic, yes. But should that thought frighten you, allow me to offer you reassurance. Knowledge alone does no harm. What I have, I place at your disposal, to use or ignore as you desire.”

 

Cullen stared at her.

 

“Perhaps I should reassure you further that I am not like those cretin who bound you in the tower. If you remember, I was among those who freed you. One would hope that would bolster some measure of trust between us, Inquisitor.”

 

Cullen sighed heavily at the thought of another mage, one who flirted with arts not sanctioned by the Chantry. And yet, he daren’t say no. He couldn’t let his own fears get in the way of getting resources that may give them an edge over Corypheus and his orb. He needed every iota of help to defeat that creature. “Welcome aboard, then, Lady Morrigan,” he said tiredly. “Skyhold is pleasant, but bring a jacket, the winds are wicked.”

 

She laughed once more. “A most gracious response. I shall see you at Skyhold then, Inquisitor.” She smiled and, with a delicate twirl of her dress, turned to leave.

 

Cullen leaned his elbows on the railing, letting the stillness wash over him. He heard soft footsteps coming up to him then. “Something else to tell me, Lady Morrigan?” he asked, not turning around. A small bottle was held out to him. He looked up the length of the arm to Evelyn’s face, smiling at him. “What’s this?” he asked, taking the bottle.

 

“Tincture for headaches,” she replied, leaning on the railing beside him. “Adan makes them. I can imagine the headache you must be having after a night like this. Take a sip. Taste’s terrible, though.”

 

He unstoppered the bottle and took a sip. He grimaced. “Maker, that’s awful!”

 

“It works,” she chuckled. She waved her hand no as he handed it back to her. “Keep it,” she said. “I have loads.” They looked ahead in silence for a while as Cullen pocketed the bottle. “Are you alright?” she asked him then.

 

Cullen snorted. “Besides the headache and the overall feeling of filth?” She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He smiled at her as he pat her hand. “I feel fine, you needn’t worry about me.”

 

“You know I do,” she said quietly.

 

Cullen looked at her. “You sent Ser Laurent to help us,” he said.

 

“I did,” she looked away. “I heard about Venatori in the wing, she was the best I had on hand.”

 

“She told me you were… close,” Cullen said. The unspoken question hung in the air like a gibbet.

 

Evelyn was silent. “We were,” she said. “We were lovers back in Ostwick. It ended a few months before I left for the Conclave.” She paused, running her hands through her hair and tucking it over one shoulder, a lock catching at her lip again. “She’s… a little stubborn about things. But it is over, Inquisitor, I can assure you that.” Evelyn looked at him worriedly. “She didn’t say anything inappropriate to you, did she?”

 

“No,” he smiled up at her. Her ex lover. Everyone had a past. And yet, the thought of Evelyn and Laurent… together was oddly… alluring. He pushed it from his head, his cheeks mottling. “If you assure me that it’s over…”

 

She took his hand in hers. “It is,” she said fervently. Then she seemed to catch herself and blushed. “Maker, I feel like a blushing village girl when I talk to you sometimes.”

 

He chuckled. That was a strangely nice compliment. His other hand reached out to move the lock of hair from her lip. “Well you are blushing,” he murmured. She glared at him, blushing even more. She hit his shoulder. “Or now you are, if you weren’t before.” From within the ballroom, another song started up.

 

“Now you’re just being cruel,” she looked away.

 

He laughed softly and stepped away from her. “I may never get another chance like this so I must ask,” he said. She turned to him in surprise, her blue eyes wide. He bowed and held his hand out to her. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

 

Evelyn’s cheeks were aflame at the sight of him, her hand curled near her face, She smiled then and took his hand. “O-of course,” she beamed as she stepped into his arms, her eyes soft. And in the privacy of the balcony, away from prying eyes, they danced under the moonlight. There was no fancy hand holding, no dramatic twirls, just a simple step that brought the two of them closer together. He smiled at the scent of her hair. He was finally having fun, he realized as she leaned her head on his shoulder, their arms settling around each other. “This is nicer than courtly dances,” she murmured against his chest.

 

“You’ve never danced like this?” he asked, a little surprised.

 

She shook her head against him. “But I’m enjoying it.”

 

“Perhaps it’s the company,” he replied. “Or that I’m not stepping on your toes so much because I actually know this dance.”

 

She laughed and looked up at him. “Or perhaps it’s because you smell nice,” she tilted her head. “Like elderberries.”

 

He chuckled at that, blushing slightly. “Well, that’s good to know,” he muttered, but his words were cut off as she tiptoed to kiss him. Within the hall, the song swelled to a close and applause rang out while Cullen and Evelyn kissed, completely ignored and freed from the Game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter took slightly longer to finish than before. Writer's block, unfortunately. Still, most of the heavy lifting is done, and Cullen can leave this madness behind. Unbeta-ed for now. Any thoughts? Drop me a comment and Merry Christmas!


	22. Nemesis Close to Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen, Evelyn and Leliana make progress on their each of their nemesis.

The journey back to Skyhold was long and blessedly uneventful, with the exception of their trip to the merchant’s home to find out information on Calpernia. To Cullen’s utter lack of surprise, the merchant had been killed before they even arrived. No one who had dealings with the Venatori tended to survive long. They had found some strange crystals off the corpses of the Venatori they killed there, however. Cullen was just emerging from the Undercroft where he had handed the crystals over to Dagna for research. He was heading out of the main hall, when he saw Bull sauntering out of the Rest. “Boss!” Bull called, waving him over. The Qunari had his massive hammer on his back.

 

Cullen went to join him. “Bull,” Cullen smiled. “Where are you off to?”

 

“We got some new recruits in,” Bull grinned as they walked down the stairs to the main gates. Blackwall was waiting beside the gates for them. “Want to watch grown men cry?” Bull asked Cullen.

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah! It’s fun!”

 

Cullen looked to Blackwall. “What’s this about grown men crying?”

 

Blackwall chuckled as he shouldered his shield and walked with them out the gates. “We offered to help train the new recruits,” he said. “But we always let the Commander have a crack at them first.”

 

Cullen chuckled. “What? She’s fine!” he said. He recalled how she trained the recruit in Haven, all smiles and camaraderie. Then again, that was Haven. She seemed more sombre now. Or was that just him? How long had it been since he last trained, anyway?

 

“To handsome Inquisitors, maybe,” Bull grinned, patting him on the back so hard Cullen nearly stumbled. “But we figured you should get a more wholesome look at your girlfriend from outside your ivory tower.”

 

Cullen glanced at him. “Maker. I know I’ve been busy, but you don’t have to put it like that,” he said.

 

“You might as well come oversee the training once in awhile,” Blackwall said. “Keeps people on their toes, especially the new recruits.”

 

“I know,” Cullen sighed softly. He should take a more active role with the troops. When was the last time he had gotten up early to train with the troops? Not since before the Conclave, and that felt so long ago. They descended the path to the camps in the valley below and sauntered into the relatively empty camp with only a few soldiers on watch. Most were at training.

 

There was shouting. “Ah, looks like inspection’s started,” Blackwall chuckled as they watched from the sidelines. The recruits were lined up on parade, donned in Inquisition armour. Their faces were still, but Cullen could see their eyes watching Evelyn as she inspected them, her white armour glinting in the clear sunlight of the mountains.

 

Bull set his hammer on the ground head down and leaned his hands on the handle. Cullen too rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. He sort of missed this. Though, if he were truly honest, he missed this a great deal. Bring Inquisitor was… not the calling he had expected when he joined up.

 

“Now the nice thing about watching inspection is seeing someone doing something phenomenally stupid,” Bull shared. “One sovereign that someone’s going to whistle.”

 

“I’ve got my money on cat call,” Blackwall chuckled.

 

“Has that stupid stuff happened before?” Cullen frowned. “That’s very ill disciplined. They wouldn’t dare in the Templars.”

 

“Now, see, Templars go in with a certain gravitas, the ones who get in are generally hand-picked,” Bull said. “They tend to be serious about their vocation.”

 

Cullen thought back to Alistair. “You could say that,” he said evenly.

 

“Then you got some of the ones here, who join up because the Inquisition offers a decent meal and a bed of their own,” Bull went on.

 

“That makes sense-” Cullen began and paused when Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks.

 

“What was that? Cat call?” Blackwall asked, watching intently.

 

“Don’t know, didn’t hear,” Bull said.

 

Evelyn was striding back to a recruit she had passed. She stood a whole head shorter than the man but reached up to grab his gorget, pulling him off balance. “You fucking cum-chugging piece of shit! I heard what you called me!” her voice carried over. Bull tossed Blackwall a sovereign. “What is your fucking name, private?”

 

“Bradach, ser!” the private sounded.

 

“I’d ask if your momma ever taught you how to talk to women, but looks like the best she gave you is the smear at the top of your head when she shat you out after a backdoor two-penny upright! Am I right?”

 

Cullen blinked. “What’s a backdoor two-penny upright?” he asked.

 

Blackwall and Bull stared at him.

 

“Nevermind, I think I can guess.”

 

The private was fully aware that all were listening, if not outright watching him getting railed at by a woman so much smaller than him. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to find a way to leave his stupid body behind.  

 

“I said am I fucking right?” Evelyn’s roar echoed in the valley.

 

“Ser, yes, ser!” he squeaked, turning red with shame.

 

“You want to sound like a woman?” Evelyn roared. The private doubled over in pain as her hand moved, his hands clutching between his legs. “Let’s both be women, Private Fanny. From now on, you will call me Commander, or Ser! One more smart comment and I’m going to make you want to crawl back up your mother’s fucking shit-hole! Now, get your ass back on your feet!”

 

The private squirmed and pulled himself up, his legs still pinching together as he tried to stand to attention. Cullen was grinning tightly. “It’s like I’m dating my drill sergeant,” he tried not to laugh. Blackwall sighed this time and tossed three sovereigns over to Bull. “What’s this?” Cullen asked.

 

“I said you’d probably take to the hills running,” Blackwall chuckled. “Bull bet you’d laugh and like it.”

 

“Ben Hassrath training,” Bull grinned. “The Inquisitor has a lot of men under him. Might like a woman over him from time to time.”

 

“Maker preserve me!” Cullen exclaimed, feeling his cheeks heat up. “That’s not what it is!”

 

Evelyn was walking over to them then. “Inquisitor,” she saidl, seemign surprised to see him there. “I’m sorry you had to see that little display.”

 

“I’ve seen worse with some of the Templar recruits,” Cullen smiled.

 

“Would you like to inspect the recruits?”

 

“I think I would,” Cullen said.

 

The attack came as he was walking down the first row of recruits. There were shouts from the perimeter of the camp. Cullen turned as the world began to slow. He saw the attacker in Templar armour running forward, bow drawn. He heard the arrow whizzing as it sprung from the bow. He raised his arms to deflect the arrow on his bracers, too slow, too late.

 

There was the sound of piercing flesh as hot blood sprayed across his face. He blinked as it blinded him in one eye. Evelyn staggered, her hand pouring with blood, the arrow protruding between thumb and forefinger. It had glanced off the gauntlet and gone through her leathers.

 

Cullen drew his sword. Bull was already charging the Templar with the bow, hammer drawn, as the Templar was nocking another arrow. “Don’t kill him!” Evelyn barked. Bull freed one hand from his hammer and punched the Templar out cold instead. The man crashed to the ground, armour clanking like a falling metalworks. The Templars who were chasing him were on him immediately, binding him. Cullen turned to Evelyn as she gripped her right wrist, her hand bleeding onto the ground, her face pale.

 

“Ev- Commander,” he said. “Get to the infirmary!” He looked up at the soldiers then. “Captains! Get this place on lockdown! No one in or out!”

 

“With all due respect, Inquisitor, you should not be here,” she breathed as the captains in the camp started to move, barking out orders. The arrow was sticking through her flesh. “Warden! Bull! Escort the Inquisitor to the my tent now. Captain Jesso, six men, follow them on guard.” The camp was abuzz with activity now, as if someone stirred up a beehive. The recruits gaping gormlessly at the sudden outburst of violence until they were yelled to their duties by the sergeants. Evelyn turned to Cullen as Blackwall and Bull ran up to him. “Get going,” she snapped. “Once the camp is secure, we will update you.”

 

Cullen glared at her, his sword in his hand. She was bleeding, he should be doing something, he should be galvanizing the men but it was no longer his place. He started to feel that sting keenly. He was the Inquisitor, someone to be protected. “Report to me after you’ve been to the infirmary,” he said, walking off with Bull and Blackwall. Captain Jesso was an old soldiers who wore his weapon and his authority like a familiar old cloak. He jerked his head to a tent. Blackwall, Bull and Cullen stepped inside. Cullen could hear Jesso yell his man into position all around the tent. Cullen began to pace, his hand wiping Evelyn’s blood from his face. He was appalled! Not only because his reaction had been that slow, but because he was stuck in a tent. He was the King on the chess piece to be kept away behind the pawns. It riled him to think this was now his… place.  

 

“I suppose we’re the last line of defence,” Blackwall said.

 

“Yeah, not much else she can do,” Bull replied, holding his hammer. “This is a huge breach in security.”

 

“I should be out there,” Cullen snarled.

 

“Doing what? Running around where people can shoot at you more?” Blackwall asked.

 

“You are exactly where you need to be, Inquisitor, and you know it,” Bull said.

 

Cullen sighed heavily. His position demanded he be kept away. He would have done the same if he were in her shoes. An hour passed, then three. Their meals were brought to them, but for the most part, they were left alone. Periodic reports were sent - guards were doubled, camps in Skyhold’s surrounds were being scoured for any other intruders. Then, evening descended and the lanterns in the tent were lit.

 

Cullen looked up from where he sat at Evelyn’s desk when the tent flap opened. Leliana appeared. She entered with Evelyn, whose hand was bound in bandages. “Inquisitor,” Leliana greeted.

 

“Have you news?” Cullen asked.

 

Evelyn’s eyes were frosty as she spoke. “Leliana’s people are scouring the mountains as we speak, guards have been doubled in the keep and its surrounds. For now, it seems that he was the only man who was sent here.”

 

“So a lone intruder posing as a Templar?” Cullen asked, crossing his arms.

 

“Oh, he was a Templar,” Leliana said. “The Commander manager to extract some information before I arrived, though her methods were… very direct.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“Meaning... he’s not going anywhere for a while,” Leilena replied.

 

“I broke both his knees,” Evelyn said coolly, crossing her arms.

 

“Nice,” Bull smiled.

 

Leliana glanced at Evelyn disapprovingly, then turned back to Cullen, who was staring at Evelyn in mild shock. “But there is one other matter,” she went on. “This Templar is someone you know, now an agent of Samson.”

 

“Who?” Cullen asked, dreading the answer. Who else had fallen to Samson?

 

“Does the name Keran sound familiar?” Evelyn asked.

 

“What?” Cullen exclaimed. “Maker’s breath…” The young recruit from Kirkwall. He had graduated a year ago, taken his philter and now… this? He frowned. “Take me to him.”

 

Evelyn glanced at Leliana, who nodded slightly. “This way, Inquisitor,” she said, drawing the tent flap back with her good hand. He followed her out into the camp. Fires were lit and though this was a camp of recruits, far more heavy guards were present. There was the smell of food from the mess hall hanging in the air, because life had to go on, despite the attack. Above, the sky was dark, stars clouded over. Cullen looked at Evelyn’s bandaged right hand. “Is your hand alright?” he asked her quietly.

 

“The arrow tore the skin, it hurts like fuck,” she said quietly.

 

“Will it affect your--”

 

“It shouldn’t,” she said tersely. “With magical healing, I should be fine, it just takes a while. This is serious, Inquisitor.” She looked up at him. “You were just nearly assasinated in my camp next to me and you still ask after my injury?” There was almost a note of reprimand in her voice.

 

“Is that so wrong?” he asked.

 

“There are important things to deal with, not me.”

 

“There are important things to deal with, besides you,” Cullen corrected her. She did not meet his eyes as they walked, a tinge coming to her cheeks.

 

“I will be fine,” she said. “Please focus on what matters more, Inquisitor.”

 

“Very well. We will discuss this later. Something else is troubling you.”

 

“It’s nothing, nothing’s troubling me. Other than the fact that you nearly died,” she growled, rage radiating off her. “Again.”

 

“We will speak of this later,” he repeated, his voice hardening into the mantle of command. “You will meet me in my office when you’ve calmed down. Now back to the matter at hand. I’m sure you will make an inquiry into how he managed to get in.”

 

“Rest assured, I will find out. Laurent is questioning the lookouts as we speak. The Red Templar was sent here by Samson. I know I broke his knees already, but when I found out you knew him, I stopped. If you permit me obtain information by any means necessary, I will do so.”

 

His eyes narrowed. “You mean torture.”

 

“I do. It’s necessary. Samson is becoming a bigger threat than anticipated. He’s galvanizing more people to his cause, he’s becoming active in the Dales and Emplise du Lion. And now he’s sending Red Templars to your doorstep to kill you.”

 

“What manner of torture are you intending?” he asked.

 

“It would be better if you not know,” she said, her blue eyes cold and her face stern. “But Keran won’t die without your judgement.”

 

The tent they approached was on the edge fo the camp and surrounded by guards, both Inquisition soldiers and Templars. Cullen could feel the wariness in the air as they approached. Keran was chained to the floor, his wrists manacled behind his back as he slumped on his knees, head hung. Rylen was standing guard within, his sword drawn. “Finally,” he said with relief when they entered the tent. “The song is killing me.”

 

Cullen glanced at him. “Song?” he asked.

 

“Can’t you hear it?” Rylen asked. “It’s coming off him like a bad smell. The song was what alerted the Templars on guard who tried to intercept him.”

 

“They heard it too?” Evelyn asked.

 

“Aye, I’ll have my report for you by the end of the evening.”

 

“Thank you, Rylen,” Evelyn breathed, her eyes slightly wild.

 

“Wait outside,” Cullen said.

 

Rylen glanced at the bound Red Templar, a hint of worry in his eyes. But he turned and left the tent anyway. Cullen looked down at Keran. Rylen spoke of a song? Could Templars hear it even within those who had turned Red? Back at Therinfal, Cullen was surrounded by the accursed red song with all the red lyrium throughout the keep. But here, he could hear nothing. Perhaps because the others were still on lyrium, while he was not. “Keran,” he called.

 

Keran did not move, only his shoulders rising and falling faster. The man’s legs were twisted under him.

 

“Keran,” he snapped once more. “I called your name, Templar!”

 

Keran looked up at him, his face glowing with red that flowed through his veins, his eyes two orbs of hellish light, like fire banked in a forge. He pulled against the manacle, the chain snapping behind him as he kicked at the ground. “You must die!” he growled, his lit eyes bulging.

 

Cullen felt his heart sink. The young recruit was nothing like what he remembered. “Did Samson send you?”

 

Keran grinned at him. “No! I fucking volunteered!” he snarled. “Volunteered for your head! And why not? You always feared I’d turn!”

 

“Not to this, Keran…”

 

“Then to what? An abomination? Believe me, this is better!”

 

“You can’t be serious!”

 

“And why not? The power of the red is cannot be denied. Samson was right about everything! About you! About Corypheus! I was so close--”

 

“Tell me about Samson.”

 

“Or what, you’ll hurt me like you did Wilmod?”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to do that, Keran.”

 

“I do,” Evelyn snarled quietly.

 

Keran burst out laughing. “He’s everything you are, Knight-Captain!” Keran chuckled. “Samson is like you. In every way. He gave us purpose, showed us a new way, a way forward. Not with the Chantry - no prayers ever brought peace. But with him, we know the way.”

 

“This is the way?” Cullen demanded. “Red lyrium?”

 

“What other way is there?” Keran growled. “Death? We were abandoned by the Chantry, Cullen! And then we were abandoned by you! You left us because there was no hope left for us!”

 

“Samson wants to help an ancient evil destroy the world and storm the Black City!”

 

“We all know which way the wind is blowing, Cullen. If you’re smart, you’ll help us and rise. Or choose to lead this doomed Inquisition with your stolen power.”

 

“What about Macha?” Cullen’s voice softened.

 

At this, Keran seemed to still, his his head lowering.

 

“Keran,” Cullen tried again. “Where’s Macha? Don’t tell me you left her to turn Red.”

 

Keran’s voice rang out gentler, tinged with sorrow. “She’s dead, Knight-Captain. Dead in a world that betrayed us. With Corypheus, we can make sure that never happens again, not to anyone we love…”

 

Cullen stared at him. He had never heard anything so twisted in his life. “Where is Samson?” he asked, his voice cold.

 

Keran shook his head and lunged on his broken knees at Cullen, the chain snapping taut as it caught him by the manacled wrists an inch from Cullen’s face. Keran screamed in both pain and rage, wrenching at the chain. Evelyn moved like lightning, her leg catching Keran’s as her hand snapped his chin back, throwing him to the ground. Her knee pressed his neck to the earth, pinning him down. “I will never betray him!” Keran choked.

 

“Inquisitor?” she said coolly, looking up at Cullen. “Permission to continue questioning him, ser.”

 

Cullen watched Keran writhing in the dirt, his twisted legs flailing as he screamed to get free from her inexorable hold. “Granted,” he said, his eyes hard. “Keep him alive.”

 

“Gladly,” she smiled, her eyes like frost. Cullen felt slightly terrified of her then. “Templars!” she barked. Three Templars came in, with Rylen joining them. Two Templars moved to pin the thrashing Keran down. “Rylen, please make sure the Inquisitor gets back to the keep with Blackwall and Bull. I will question Keran here.”

 

++++

 

Sword clashed against sword, Cullen’s breath roared in his ears, his heart hammering through his whole being as he faced Envy. Sneering, snarling, body stained with blood. There was no end to their fight, rain soaking them to the skin, every sword strike echoing with the thunder that rolled from the roiling clouds above. “Tell me what you feel!” Envy snarled, its voice washing over him like the waves upon the shore. The ground beneath his feet began to crack. He looked down, sweat stinging his eyes as he tried to keep his balance. Envy’s moving shadows on the wet earth made him raise his blade to counter the blow. He felt it sink into flesh, he heard Envy gasp with an oddly human sound as hot blood sprayed on his face. Cullen looked up. It wasn’t Envy impaled on his sword. He stared in horror, his breath short and shallow as a shaking hand bleeding from an arrow wound reached up to touch his face. There was fear in her eyes as she slumped, dying on his blade. “Evelyn--” he gasped.

 

She spoke then, but it was not her voice that came. It was Keran’s. “Will you hurt me like Wilmod?” And then the ground fell away. He screamed as he fell into a dizzying darkness, the blood on him burning. Then the mark burst into flame, enveloping him with the ringing of a thousand bells.

 

Cullen gasped awake, lying on his side. The mark was flaring, filling the room with a violent green glow. His breath quickening, Cullen sat up and closed his hand into a fist as he grabbed the marked hand’s wrist. “Stop it,” he grit, his body slick with sweat. The mark’s fire flared through his skin, he could see the shadows of his bones cast in green, hear the spitting fire. “Stop it!” he snarled, shutting his eyes as he tried to stem the rising panic that the thing wasn’t listening to him.

 

Evelyn’s face as she died flashed in his mind, Envy’s shadowed form of him, hot blood on his skin brought more memories of the Circle. Blood and the smell of Ainsley’s corpse, the sounds from the Harrowing Chamber as mage after mage, templar after templar was walked in and never emerged, if they were fortunate--

 

The mark was pulling his hand away from him now, blazing green. He pressed it to the bed. “Stop it!” he screamed over the sound of its cracking and snapping. The sound of the rift.

 

“Cullen!”

 

He didn’t even look up as he tried to still the mark, the flashbacks only fueling it. Someone was running to him.

 

“Get away!” he snapped, his eyes wild.

 

A pulse filled the air, a wavering bubble of blue flowed over him, pulling at the mark’s fire. “You have to calm down!”

 

Fear tore at his voice. “It’s not stopping-- it--” Hands held his marked fist, one hand bound in a bandage. He looked up into her face. Evelyn’s hands pulsed blue, trying to still the flaring of the mark. “Why isn’t it stopping?” Cullen demanded, angry and afraid.

 

“O Maker, hear my cry,” Evelyn said.

 

Cold fingers running across his skin, he had sung the chant and begged for death.

 

“Cullen! Respond!” Evelyn shouted, pulling back to the present. “O Maker, hear my cry!”

 

Cullen grit his teeth. “G-guide me through the blackest nights…”

 

“Continue!” She snapped, her hands pulsing blue over the green fire.

 

He could hear his heart drumming in his ears. “Steel my heart against- against the temptations of the wicked,” he whimpered as he called to mind the prayer. “Make me to rest in the warmest places.”

 

Memories of quiet, of silence, of singing the Chant until sleep claimed him and Knight-Captain Warren yelled him awake.

 

“My Creator judge me whole,” she went on, his breathing slowing.

 

“Find me well within Your grace,” he breathed, his heart slowing as he sang the chant at her lead. Her nullifying pulses like a heartbeat. “T-touch me with fire that I be cleansed…” He saw the light dimming in his mark. “Tell me… I have sung to Your approval…” Her pulse made the fire waver this time. Memories of quiet, of peace. There had been laughter in the barracks at him being chewed out for snoring during his Vigil. He swallowed, his throat dry like ash. “Stop,” he whispered. The mark flickered and faded, stilling obediently now.

 

He hung his head, panting and dripping with sweat. His hand still gripped his wrist as his body shook. Evelyn wordlessly let go of his hand and went to a sideboard. He heard the clink of glass. She returned with the smell of brandy wafting around her. She held the cup of brandy out to him. Cullen took it gratefully and downed it all in a sip and a half.

 

“Bad dreams?” she asked softly, sitting on the side of his bed.

 

He nodded as she took back the empty cup. He caught his bearings. It was already dawn judging by the light pouring in through his open balcony doors. She was in his room for some reason, not wearing her armour, just a tunic and her furs. Her hair was still damp from a recent bath, but dark circles lined her eyes. Cullen shook his head, embarrassment filling the void left behind by his panic.

 

“Do they happen often?” she asked.

 

He leaned his arms on his bent knees, his hand covering his eyes. “Not… for a while. I thought I’d left it all behind.”

 

“Then… why do you think…”

 

He sighed heavily. “Keran, I think. Him, or the red lyrium, I don’t know…”

 

“Then you’re doing well, for someone coming off lyrium,” she said, placing her bandaged hand on his.

 

“The mark was supposed to be nullifying the effects.”

 

“Perhaps now we know it doesn’t always work. Perhaps the red lyrium is… different from the blue.”

 

“That might be it,” Cullen said softly. “I don’t even know what’s happening with my body anymore.”

 

She said nothing, just quietening him with her presence.

 

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he breathed.

 

She smiled at him. “I’m glad I happened to be around,” she said. She took his marked hand covering his eyes and held it, kissing his knuckles. “I get to be knight in shining armour to my knight in shining armour.” There was an impish twinkle to her eyes.

 

He chuckled. She… always knew how to make him smile. “You are a knight in shining armour with or without me,” he pointed out. “And you missed a few verses to Transfigurations twelve.”

 

She pouted slightly. “Well… I haven’t said that one in a while, at least I remembered those verses.” She paused. “Sort of.”

 

He smiled, the nightmare fading from his memory. He reached out to her and drew her into a gentle, languid kiss. She opened her eyes slowly when their lips parted, her eyelids lidded and a tugging at the corner of her lips. “What was that for?”

 

“A kiss for my knight in shining armour,” he chuckled. “In compensation for her saving me.”

 

“Oh,” she said happily and kissed him again quickly. “That was for the tip.”

 

“You are incorrigible,” he laughed, his eyes softening as he looked at her. He took the glass from her hand, his hand lingering over hers. He stood up and returned it to the sideboard. He was wearing breaches, which was… a blessing. He should have slept with a shirt on. “Any news on Keran?” he asked her as he pulled on his tunic, not bothering to lace up the neck. He was still feeling flushed.

 

“He… is talking,” she replied evasively. “We’re letting him rest for now. I’ll have a proper report for you soon. We’ve received word during the night from the Warden Amell and Hawke as well. They are on their way back. They sent us some information on Adamant Fortress as well. I should be able to get a plan in place before the end of the week.”

 

“You’re getting better at this,” he smiled at her.

 

She blushed. “Oh, come now, Cullen,” she sighed and held up her bandaged hand. “I’m still making mistakes. That was the issue that was bothering me last night”

 

“We all do,” he said, and held up his marked hand, which flared playfully now that he was paying it attention. He shook the fire out. “I’ve spent so long teaching myself to control this, and I totally panic because it wouldn’t listen just one time.”

 

“I think you were panicking over something else,” she replied.

 

He sighed inwardly. “It is… old memories,” he began awkwardly, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

 

“You don’t have to explain it,” she shook her head. “I think I understand. I also think that you should stay far away from the Red Templars if possible.”

 

“I will have to face them eventually. Samson and I need to have a long talk.”

 

“Yes, but not now. Let me work on this, please. I would rather you not, um, agitate your situation. If you’re indisposed or things happen then there are so many decisions we need you to make which you may not be...” She caught him staring at her and her words tumbled over themselves. “Ugh,” she shook her head, almost as if she were annoyed with herself. In a more strict and business-like tone, she went on, “I think it would be best because I--”

 

“Care about me.”

 

“--Yes, care about you and-” She glared at him. Her eyebrow arched. “You just wanted me to say that, didn’t you?”

 

“It’s a mystery,” he smiled, walking to her as she sat on his bed. He bent, tilted her head back and kissed her gently. It was rather nice to kiss her. Repeatedly. With all the madness going on, they hadn’t spent much time together where they weren’t plotting for or against the death of something. He felt her smile into the kiss as he leaned his weight on his arm on the mattress. His heart started to quicken as a new thought entered his mind. “Have you... some time? Perhaps half a day? Before Adamant?”

 

Evelyn blinked, looking up at him with eyes alight with curiosity. “I can make time,” she said slowly. “Why?”

 

He glanced away, the memory of the lake he had spent time at as a child flashed in his mind. But suddenly he dared not ask her. It was… silly. Perhaps too soon. “Y-you should take a break,” he said. “Maybe some chess?”

 

“Chess?” she smiled up at him. “You sure you’d rather play chess than, say, calibrating the trebuchets?”

 

He chuckled, a little embarrassed. He calibrated the trebuchets way too much as it was. “Don’t make me choose between trebuchets and you,” he begged.

 

She burst out laughing. “Alright, Cullen. I’ll free myself up. Would tomorrow be good?”

 

“Inquisitors are pretty useless unless there’s someone important to judge or someone annoying to kill,” he said. “Tomorrow would be perfect.” He straightened up.

 

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked as she rose from the bed, her body close to him. There were worse things in life than waking up with someone you cared about in the room, Cullen realized. If only he knew what in the Void he was supposed to do to facilitate that, or even ifhe dared at this point.

 

“Um, besides brandy? Of course.”

 

“Brandy is perfectly fine as a breakfast food, you know. And what would the Dread Inquisitor with the amazing bed-head like for breakfast?” she asked.

 

Cullen’s hands flew to his head as he tsked in exasperation. “Anything would be fine,” he said, trying to smooth his hair down.

 

“I like it!” she laughed and reached up to pull his fringe down over his eyes, her arms reaching up to press her hands to his forehead. “Wow, it’s longer than I thought.”

 

Cullen blinked through his hair. “Actually, it sort of is. I hadn’t notic--”

 

They heard the door to his chambers open and someone climbed the stairs hurriedly. Cassandra appeared and saw the two of them standing close with Evelyn’s hand on Cullen’s forehead as he blinked through his own hair. She suddenly smirked and crossed her arms with a certain telling swagger.

 

“Stop giving me that look. I-it’s not what it looks like!” Cullen blubbered, holding Evelyn’s wrists as he took her hands off his head.

 

“I wish it were what it looks like,” Evelyn murmured and blinked her eyes innocently at him when he glared at her, the blush spreading from his cheeks to his chest. Did she really just say that?

 

“Someone came running to me saying the Inquisitor was screaming,” Cassandra said coolly as she leaned on the verandah of the stairway.

 

“I-it’s just a nightmare, nothing to concern yourself over.”

 

Cassandra looked at Evelyn. “I take it you know?” she asked.

 

“I do,” Evelyn replied.

 

“And I take it he--”

 

“Yes, he’s fine. It was just a bad dream, possibly because of being around a Red Templar,” Evelyn smiled. She glanced at Cassandra. Cullen sensed something pass between them.

 

Evelyn stepped away from him, her hands slipping from his, and headed out of his chambers. “We should let him get dressed, Seeker. The Inquisitor barely clad in a room with two ladies? What will people think?”

 

“They have already paired him up with dozens of suitors,” Cassandra chuckled.

 

“Are you in the list?” asked Evelyn curiously.

 

“Most of Skyhold is,” Cassandra laughed. “And some man named Phillip.”

 

“I don’t even want to know,” Cullen groaned.

 

++++

 

“They want me to what?” Cullen droned as he stared at Josephine across the War Table. Maps and papers were strewn over its surface as usual. Evelyn was not with them, no doubt her questioning of Keran was continuing. “They want me to judge Duchess Florianne?”

 

Josephine had the decency to look a little uncomfortable. “Yes, Inquisitor. It is an issue borne of titles and heir apparency and…”

 

“Last I checked, she was a Duch-sicle!”

 

She sighed. “Halamshiral would like our help freeing trade routes formerly controlled by the Duchess, routes which would have been forfeit if she had been tried. They… have asked for our help. If we aid them, we would save them considerable bureaucracy and--”

 

“Absolutely not,” Cullen snapped. “I will not have them flagrantly misuse the legitimacy of the Inquisition’s judgement just so they save on paperwork. Send the Duchess back to them and tell them to not waste our time. With a bow on, since we’re being diplomatic.”

 

Josephine sighed again. “As you wish, Inquisitor. Once again, my apologies.”

 

Leliana chuckled to herself. “You could have just judged the duchess. Perhaps parade her head around to warn others of crossing you? I believe the arrow is still sticking out of her mouth. The box could have become an end table for orphans.”

 

“No. This is ridiculous.”

 

“Maybe a play,” Leliana mused.

 

“A play?”

 

“Sponsor some plays based on our dear Duchess. We could stick an arrow through a skull as a warning. Ambitious fools should learn to fear the Inquisition before they get any bright ideas of their own.”

 

Cullen sighed. “We can sponsor Punch and Judy shows for all I care, as long as no one flouts the seriousness of the Inquisition’s judgement.”

 

“I’ll make note of it,” Leliana smiled.

 

“May I request that we forgo the bow, Inquisitor?” Josephine asked.

 

“I wouldn’t want them to think we were being offensive,” Cullen sneered slightly. He caught Josephine’s look. Cullen sighed and held up his hands placatingly. “Alright, forgo the bow. I’m making life difficult for you as it is, Josephine. Forgive me. I’m still not judging a damn box. What’s next on the agenda?”

 

“Calpernia,” Leliana replied. “Your trip to the merchant’s home yielded results, Inquisitor. We’ve discovered that even before the became leader for the Venatori, Calpernia was a slave in Minrathous. If she was a slave freed by Corypheus, even one with magic, it is no wonder she now follows him.”

 

“Can we use this somehow?” he asked.

 

“We can. Vicinius tracked his shipments. We may be able to find her lair.”

 

“Do it,” Cullen said. “The more of his leaders we take down, the better. We’ve already got Samson to deal with.”

 

“If there is nothing else, I propose that we speak with Dagna to see if she has any updates on the crystal you found.”

 

Cullen looked at Josephine. “Do we?” he asked, speaking a little more gently. She was looking put upon as it was.

 

“Not at this time, Inquisitor,” she replied tightly.

 

“Right, then let’s go speak with Dagna, Leliana.” He would have to make it a point to ask the kitchens to send Josephine something sweet in apology later.

 

He sighed as they left Josephine in her office. “Sometimes I think she might feel better strangling me,” he winced.

 

“Your approach to situations might be a little direct for her tastes,” Leliana chuckled as she walked next to him.

 

“I have to hand it to her, though. Nobles make my teeth itch. Better she deal with them than me.” He held open the door to the Undercroft for Leliana.

 

“I think we can both agree on that point,” Leliana smiled. “We do want the Inquisition to have some noble allies, after all.”

 

“Oh, come now, I’m not that bad, am I?” Cold air wafted over them. Being under a waterfall of mountain flow, the Undercroft was always freezing. There was snow here, even when none of the rest of the keep had. Every time he came in here, he was glad for his furs.

 

Dagna looked up as they entered. Her work table was strewn with delicate tools that reminded Cullen of the sort the Tranquil used for their craft. But on the middle of it was the crystal, glowing blue and floating in a metal cage. “Inquisitor! This is an amazing find!” she squeaked, her voice bubbling with excitement. “The Shaperate in Orzammar use something like this!”

 

“Is it magic?” Cullen asked. “Why’s it floating?”

 

“Oh, the crystal isn’t magic, not really. It floats in the metal because it’s magnetic polarities constantly invert due to the latent lyrium in the fissures that--” She caught sight of Cullen’s blank stare, her words bouncing around his head. “Inquisitor?”

 

“I... understood every word. Individually. It’s them all strung in that sentence that eludes me.”

 

Dagna sighed. “It floats because reasons. Safe reasons.”

 

“I’ll accept that.” He shrugged, ignoring Leliana’s barely-concealed giggle. “What have you found out about it?”

 

“These crystals preserve voices, Inquisitor. Or a likeness. Memories, you know? You don’t know. Doesn’t matter! The Venatori cracked it, but here…” She turned and touched the side of the cage with a small rune.

 

“What are you--” Cullen began. The crystal flared and the air wavered, the towering shade of Corypheus appearing before them in wavering blue light. “Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed.

 

Corypheus’s voice spoke, tinged with a metallic overtone. “Have no fear of demons,” he growled.

 

Another shade flashed into existence beside Cullen, startling him. It was a woman, her hair bound in two braids by the side of her head, in the style that reminded him of his sister back home. Her robes were grand, and distinctly Tevinter. “But the power will draw them, unless you have wards against possession,” the woman spoke.

 

“Once Lyvius succeeds in binding the Wardens, demons will be the least of your concerns,” Corypheus said. “Prepare as I have directed.”

 

“I will, Elder one.”

 

There was a cracking sound and the shades vanished. “Sod it!” Dagna exclaimed.

 

“What was that?” Cullen exclaimed.

 

“That was it,” she said. “The crystal couldn’t take any more. Wasn’t meant for this.

 

“What was it we just saw?”

 

“Stored memories, Inquisitor, like I said.”

 

Cullen frowned. “Binding the Wardens? Maker’s mercy, stopping them is becoming more urgent than ever.”

 

“More importantly, did you see Calpernia’s expression?” Leliana asked. “Their alliance must be less than harmonious.”

 

“Alright. Can we make use of that?”

 

“Perhaps,” Leliana mused.

 

“Dagna, can you make it do… the thing again?” Cullen asked.

 

“Um, well I can. I’m no Shaper. We do it too much, we might wipe the crystal. The memories will be gone and it’ll start picking up new sounds and things.”

 

“Really?” Leliana breathed. “If we could plant it in Calpernia’s lair, we could hear everything. That only leaves the problem of how we hear it.”

 

“I could split it and leave half here!” Dagna squeaked. “It’s not how they’re supposed to work and it’ll probably break. I’m no Shaper, like I said.”

 

“The crystal can do that?” Cullen asked.

 

“It’s still one crystal, each piece will hum with the same resonant frequencies that--”

 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Cullen said quickly.

 

“If we hid one half in Calpernia’s belongings, imagine what we could learn,” Leliana smiled coldly, her hands on her hips. “I cannot overstate the value of the intelligence we might obtain!”

 

“Let’s do it then,” Cullen said. “We’re making headway here at least.”

 

“If there is a rift between Calpernia and Corypheus, we must find a way to exploit it,” Leliana said.

 

“And we need to move on Adamant, and quickly,” Cullen said intently. “I want us mobilized and at the gates within a fortnight! Work on the plant, Leliana. I need to speak to the Commander.” Not just to give her the urgent news, Cullen thought, but to also apologise. Their chess game would have to be postponed indefinitely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed! This was a long, LONG chapter. I was just wondering, in your thoughts, what do you think drives Cullen and Evelyn to be together? Or, if you have no opinion on that, what did you think of this chapter? Put your thoughts in the comments below!


	23. The Fall of Adamant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adamant falls to the Inquisition.

It was already dusk by the time Cullen got to the recruits’ camp. There had been a moment at Skyhold’s gates when the guards would not let him leave on Commander’s orders. He had over-ridden their orders. He was the Inquisitor. It had to be good for something. He did see two heavy soldiers following him a respectful distance back. Security was much tighter now. He was directed to tent where Keran was held. The guard by the door glanced at him in surprise and let him in. Keran was bound naked to a torture chair, his head hung low, his hair streaked with sweat. Evelyn looked up from where the sat on a chair with her feet up. “Inquisitor?” she exclaimed. She set down the reports she was reading. “Why are you out of Skyhold?”

 

“I over-rode those orders you gave the guards. It’s not their fault,” he said in a hollow voice, his eyes on Keran. “Is he--” 

 

“He’s asleep, Inquisitor,” she frowned. “Maker’s breath! You said to keep him alive.”

 

“What have you been doing?” he asked her. 

 

“Me?” she asked, sounding a little irritated. “Nothing. Not personally. Meet Mr Morcroft, Inquisitor.” She gestured to a skinny man sitting in the corner of the tent on a small stool. Mr Morcroft wore the black hood of a torturer, but with a pair of thick bronze-rimmed glasses on his nose over the eye holes. He must have had a magnificently long and sharp nose with the way the hood fell over it. He lifted one hand from a cup of hot cocoa and waved awkwardly at the Inquisitor. 

 

“He’s…”

 

“The Inquisition’s torturer and surgeon, sometimes,” Evelyn said primly. “Mr Morcroft is not his real name, of course. He’s a craftsman. He can keep people alive on the rack and talking for, how long, Mr Morcroft?”

 

“Thirteen days,” he said in a wavering, old voice. 

 

“Andraste’s blood…” Cullen stared at him. “You’re… not what I expected.”

 

“I’m taller than I look,’ Mr Morcroft said. 

 

“I told you that stepping in here was unwise, Inquisitor,” Evelyn said, a hint of reprimand in her voice. She sighed and turned to Mr Morcroft. “We’ll leave things here for now, Mr Morcroft. I have what I need.”

 

Mr Morcroft nodded and rose from his chair, gathering his tools and storing them in a prim leather case that reminded him of a physician’s bag. 

 

When the torturer left, Evelyn looked at Cullen. “Well now,” she said evenly, folding her arms. “You came here to check on Keran.”

 

“Should I not?” he asked. 

 

“You don’t trust my methods.”

 

“I don’t like seeing people I trained tortured,” he said, feeling his anger rising.

 

“He tried to kill you! Whoever he was, believe me, he’s gone!” Evelyn took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “And you gave me permission, Inquisitor. No prisoner ever answered questions that begin with ‘pretty please’. We had to make him scream a bit.”

 

“What did you do?” Cullen asked. 

 

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “I did what I had to,” she said coldly.

 

“Evelyn!” 

 

“You will never come back from that question once I answer it, Cullen,” she said softly. “I would prefer I not. He’s in one piece, however. Relatively. Soon you will judge him. You will kill him. Does it matter what I did?”

 

He set his jaw and looked to Keran, still… ‘asleep’. He would have to execute Keran. He failed to see how else he could help Keran. Better a quick death than a life turned red. Then Evelyn was there, her hand on his shoulder. 

 

“What was he like?” she asked softly. “Before this. What was he like?”

 

Cullen sighed heavily. “He was… a good and loyal Templar. He had a sister Macha.” Cullen ran his hand over his face. “I remember he was taken by blood mages who tried to put a demon into him. He resisted, I think. Hawke saved him. All he wanted was a steady pay so his sister could eat.” He ran his hand over his face and shook his head. “I never expected he would end up like this. To sink so low that even joining Samson is an improvement.” 

 

But he had been there. After the Circle, he had been in that place, where one has lost everything but anger and regret. Seeing Keran was frightening. What would have happened if he stayed in Kirkwall? He shuddered to think. 

 

“He sounds like he was a good man,” Evenlyn murmured. “I’m sorry he turned out like this. Whatever measures I took to obtain this information, I took no pleasure in. But it had to be done. I hesitated in fear once before in Haven. I cannot hesitate again.” She walked over to him and handed a clipboard with paper pinned to it. “For your perusal,” she went on. “Keran’s information on red lyrium mining in Emprise du Lion. We may want to look into it after our campaign at Adamant.” 

 

He took the papers from her, saying nothing. She was being more… more focused and cold than he was. He wouldn’t have been able to do this. Not to Keran. He had to steel himself. Suddenly he didn’t want to be there.

 

“Shall we adjourn to my tent, Inquisitor?” Evelyn said, gathering her papers. “It’s already late and the pass back to the keep will be dark. It is my advice that you spend the night here in camp. I can make a tent here comfortable for you.”

 

Cullen was about to protest but stopped himself. She was suggesting the prudent measure. As much as he hated the thought of having to be protected… “Very well, Commander,” he said simply. 

 

“Really?” she blinked. “I was expecting- Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.” She headed to the flap, which he held open for her. “Thank you,” she murmured, blinking in slight surprise and headed out. 

 

“Security has tightened a great deal,” Cullen noted as she led the way through the camp. It was coming to dinner time, so most of the soldiers were settling in after a day of training. There were fewer recruits here. 

 

“We’ve had impetus,” she said simply as they reached her tent. She paused and chuckled. “Remember how I was absolutely star-struck by you before?”

 

“Before?” he smiled slightly. “Not any more?”

 

“It’s a little different now. But still, perhaps you should brace yourself.” She opened the tent flap and stepped inside. There was a gasp and a sword clanged to the floor. “My sword!” Evelyn exclaimed, seeing her blade in the dirt. 

 

The boy within was perhaps no more than sixteen years old, holding a whet stone. He wore the Inquisition uniform and gaped at Cullen, goggle-eyed. Cullen looked back awkwardly. “In-In-In-” the boy babbled.

 

“Inquisitor, Rufus, that’s the word,” Evelyn said, picking up her sword. “It’s got a scratch!” 

 

The boy seemed to snap out of it. “I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. “I’ll buff that right away, Commander!” He took the sword from her and dropped the whet stone in the dirt. 

 

“Inquisitor, this is Rufus,” Evelyn introduced, taking the sword back from the boy. “My batman.”

 

“Hello Rufus,” Cullen said. 

 

Rufus gasped and blushed rosily, his hands going to his cheeks. “He said my name!” 

 

Cullen actually felt himself backing away and stopped, hoping no one noticed. 

 

Evelyn grinned at him then turned back to the boy. She waved her hand in front of his face. “Dinner for two, Rufus? Thank you. And get the tent next to mine kitted out for the Inquisitor, if you please.”

 

Rufus saluted and scuttled out of the tent, giving Cullen a wide berth as he kept on staring. Once the tent flap closed behind Rufus, Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “That was-- um,” he began, at a loss for words. 

 

“That was Rufus,” she said, setting her reports down on her desk in her tent. She lay her sword on her cot. “Fresh off training, uniform still shiny, but he can read so he’s good. And he’s been wanting to meet you since he joined.”

 

“I find all this celebrity extremely uncomfortable,” Cullen said. “I kill people and fight demons for a living.”

 

Evelyn chuckled as she sat down on her cot, pulling the sword across her lap. “Some find that madly attractive,” she purred. 

 

Cullen eyed her. “Are you serious?” he asked. Then frowned in puzzlement. “Women like that sort of thing?”

 

She laughed even harder. “You’re adorable,” she smiled up at him. “I’m still angry with you for leaving the confines of Skyhold, though.” Cullen found her laughter a little stinging. He really had no idea. 

 

Cullen shook the confusion from his mind and sighed. “I didn’t come here to be adorable, alright?”

 

“Mmhm.” She raised an eyebrow. “You do it without thinking. It’s charming.”

 

Her arch look made him blush for some reason. She was distracting him. “I came here to tell you we need to mobilize,” Cullen went on quickly, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “We’ve received new information. The demon army from Corypheus is already being summoned. We can’t wait too long.”

 

“We can start moving the men out in three days,” she said coolly as she buffed the scratch on the hilt of her sword with fine steel wool. 

 

Cullen stared at her. “That’s… a surprise.”

 

“Not really. The supply lines into the Western Approach were already being established before we left for Halamshiral. I sent the sappers ahead to Griffon Wing to construct the trebuchets we’ll need. I even asked Bull’s crazy dwarf to mix me up a good flammable mix with sulphur. Lots of that in the Western Approach. I’ve selected a decent place to camp and lay siege to the keep. With Warden Amell’s intel, all that’s left is deciding the best approach for attack.” She held up her sword with her uninjured hand. Cullen could see the muscles of her arm flexing under her tunic. It was odd to see her wielding a weapon so comfortably as if she were a man, while also having that long hair that spilled over one shoulder, a lock always catching on her lips. He realized he was staring and moved into the tent to sit down. 

 

“You’ve been busy, Commander.”

 

“I’ve never planned a siege before,” she grinned at him, the firelight making the dark circles under her eyes more prominent. “It’s foolish, but I find it exciting. I’ll be terrified later, but now it’s… I guess I haven’t grown up all that much, after all.”

 

“There’s something to be said about a soldier’s life,” he mused, watching her.

 

“True. We Templars are no soldiers. We follow orders but not without question. We serve the Chantry, not common Lords. We’re not exactly the siege sort of warriors. No mage ever had keeps.”

 

He smiled slightly. “You’re settling into your role well,” he said. 

 

“You mean I’m actually becoming competent.”

 

“I didn’t say that. You are too hard on yourself, Commander.”

 

She smiled and went back to buffing her sword. “Keran’s reports are on the table. You may want to look into them before I make my next suggestion to you. Sit at the table, it’s more comfortable.”

 

As Cullen sat down at her desk, moving aside the many glasses and half-full bottles of wine, she picked up the whet stone and returned to her cot, sitting back comfortably against the head-rest and sharpening her sword. It was pleasant to hear the soft strokes her her stone against her blade. Cullen focused on the reports instead, secretly enjoying the quiet moment with her instead. 

 

Rufus scratched the tent flap then and came in with two privates bearing a field table and two benches. To Cullen’s surprise, the boy was all business when preparing the seating for their meal. Then the meals came and were set out nicely on the table. Evelyn set her sword aside. “Rufus, this is a bit… surprising,” she blinked, standing as Rufus shoo-ed away the privates.

 

Rufus bent to light a candle. “There!” he grinned. 

 

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen stared. “That’s, um--”

 

“For your date!” Rufus beamed. 

 

“What?” Cullen exclaimed. 

 

“Rufus!” Evelyn laughed awkwardly, slapping the boy’s shoulder. “It’s nothing like that, alright?”

 

“But everyone says that it is,” Rufus blinked. 

 

“Everyone?” Cullen droned. 

 

“E-everyone in the barracks,” Rufus blushed when Cullen spoke to him. Cullen wished the boy would not do that. 

 

“Is Jyme still running the books?” Evelyn snapped. She waved her hands. “Nevermind, we’ll talk about this later. Please excuse us, we have a strategy meeting.”

 

Rufus crisply saluted. “Ser, yes, ser! Will leave you to your very romantic strategy meeting, ser!” He barked with a straight face. “Would ser like some romantic music playing for her meeting?” Cullen had the impression Rufus was a lot smarter than he acted.

 

“Go away!” Evelyn blushed. 

 

Rufus bustled out. 

 

Cullen met Evelyn’s eyes as they both looked at the table with field cutlery and soldier rations set for a candlelit meal. He started to laugh then. “Rufus is… Rufus is priceless,” he chuckled. So everyone was talking about the two of them. That was to be expected. As much as he prefered their private affairs stayed private, he would regret it more if there weren’t anything there for them to talk about. 

 

“He’s a snarky little shit,” Evelyn blushed. “But he’s good. Got potential, if his mouth doesn’t run away with him.” She looked at the table. “This isn’t what I had in mind.”

 

“Does it bother you?” he asked

 

“N-no!” Evelyn exclaimed. “I just don’t want you to think like I had this planned or anything, it’s just… ugh, it’s just Rufus!”

 

They stared at each other, awkwardness blooming between them. “Would you like to join me for dinner, Commander?” he asked.

 

She chuckled, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I take it chess is off tomorrow if you want to move out in three days?”

 

“Yes, unfortunately.”

 

She smiled. “Then let’s eat. I’ll beat you at chess another day.” 

 

Cullen laughed at that. “My dear lady, that is quite impossible,” he grinned. as they sat down at the table.

 

“What? Why?” 

 

“Because as a child, my sister and played chess all the time. She’d beat me, of course. My brother and I practiced for weeks. The look on her face the day we finally won…” He filled her mess cup with wine. He thought wistfully back to Mia, feeling slightly ashamed that he hadn’t written to Mia since… Kirkwall. “I wonder if she still plays,” he mused. 

 

She looked up at him. “You have a siblings?”

 

“Two sisters and a brother. Second child. I do not write them as often as I should.”

 

She waved her fork at him. “You should. It is my advice that you, Inquisitor. Make it so. That’s an order.”

 

“What about you then?”

 

“Two older brothers,” she sighed. “They’re probably the only two sane people in the house. Besides me. I’m the sanest.”

 

Cullen was tactfully silent, eating his food.

 

“I note your tactful silence, Cullen,” she smiled archly. 

 

“Really?” he smiled at her impishly. She nudged his leg under the table. 

 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Inquisitor,” she said. “Or I’d be quite upset.”

 

He grinned at her. “Exactly the sort of thing I’d expect the sanest person in a household to say,” he said. Cullen realized he’d never actually taken a woman out to a nice meal. This was a first, even if the meal were soldier rations with field cutlery lit with a tallow candle. It was a quiet moment of peace and idle chatter, one that Cullen knew was going to become increasingly hard to come by once they mobilized for Adamant.

 

++++

 

Trebuchets trundled under the clear desert sky as they swung, the flying rocks roaring through the air like meteors, blazing with naphtha. They struck the ancient stones of Adamant Fortress like fist of the Maker. The roar from the men was triumphant, a promise of victory and pain to the foe. Cullen stood on the rise overlooking the keep with Evelyn. Cassandra, Varric and Dorian would be part of the vanguard he would lead into the keep, along with Solona. Around them, the trebuchets rained down the wrath of the Maker upon the Wardens. 

 

Cullen was among it all as he stormed the keep with the Breaching Party under the hoardings that protected the battering ram. Resistance within was heavy, rocks and arrows pelted them, banging on the wooden shields of the hoarding. He could barely hear anything over the sound of the battering ram against Adamant’s massive gates. When the gates were breached, the troops stormed in around him. The fight was short and brutal. He cut down Warden warriors as arrows flew overhead. A corpse nearly fell on him and could have killed him outright. Beside him, Cassandra roared as her blade flashed in the air. 

 

“We need to hurry!” Dorian shouted as he fired off his spells. “Soldiers get tired! Demons, not so much!” 

 

“Of all the crazy shit I’d never thought I’d do--” Varric muttered. 

 

Cullen blocked a Warden’s strike with his shield and countered with a stab to the gut. He kicked the dying Warden off his blade. He looked up at the walls just in time to see a demon turning away from the edge. Hawke was up there leading the escalade with the Seventy-Eighth platoon. If there were demons there… “We need to get up onto the walls!” he shouted at them over the roar of battle. “Come on!” 

 

Their charge through the keep was brutal. Every Warden encountered who raised a blade against them was slain, quickly and harshly. They fought off demon and Warden alike. As they climbed the stairs to the battlements, something roared above, making the entire wall shake. “Shit,” Varric muttered. Cullen swore. If the Wardens were summoning huge demons, then this was very bad. Something huge and alight with flame soared overhead, the heat hitting them like a fist as it passed them. 

 

“If Rylen is still firing then being on the battlements is a really bad idea!” Dorian shouted behind him. 

 

“He shouldn’t be!” Cassandra snapped. “They stopped when the gates were breached!” 

 

Cullen said nothing, charging up the rest of the stairs. Whatever it was above was too hot for naphtha. It was mage fire. They froze at the top of the battlements as a huge hulking demonic form crashed down onto the heavy stones. The dead desire demon burned away into the Fade as Hawke stood up shakily behind it. “Well, that’s entirely expected,” Varric grinned. 

 

“Hawke!” Cullen shouted, gesturing for the man to join him.

 

“Well now!” Hawke grinned, running over to join them. “Finally. Took me a while to get up here. Took you a while too!” 

 

“We have to get to the rendezvous point!” Cullen shouted as another flaming rock took out a pillar near them. 

 

“Wouldn’t want to keep Sol waiting!” Hawke agreed. 

 

“We cannot stay on the battlements!” Cassandra said over the noise. “Move quickly!” 

 

They ran on, heading across the battlements to the route down the east wall. They had split up to assault the keep from the east, south and west directions, eventually to rendezvous in the middle where defences were heaviest. Blackwall was among the battle here somewhere with the others. Cullen wondered if they were alright. 

 

They fought their way to the east wall, Cullen’s arm burning from the exertion. They came to a pocket of fighting within one of the rooms that were built right into the walls. Demons clustered around something that roared with a guttural animal noise. A bear burst from the cluster, bleeding and roaring, cutting down the demons. Cullen raised his hand, letting the mark flare. “Get rid of them!” he snapped at the mark. A rift opened behind the demons, drawing them back into it exorably with green flame. The bear snarled and dug its claws into the stone to keep from being pulled in. Cullen wasn’t looking at that. He was looking at something else, inside the rift he had opened, something that watched him with hundreds of chitinous eyes. He felt the whispers in his mind begin, ancient and… familiar.  _ Finally… _ it hissed. Cullen slammed the rift closed, searing a demon in half. Varric’s bolts and Hawke’s spells took out the last demon remaining. 

 

Shadows wrapped around the bear and Solona stood up from crouching on all fours. “What in the Void was that?” she snapped as she stood up, holding her side, which was bleeding. Her hand began to glow with a healing spell.

 

“A trick he knows,” Hawke said. 

 

“Where’s forty-fifth platoon?” Cullen asked. 

 

“All over the walls,” Solona growled. “It was hard pressed here. I’m sorry, they didn’t make it.”

 

Cullen grit his jaw. “We have to move on. Can you fight?”

 

“You really asking me that?” Solona straightened up, her expression grim. “There were some Wardens fighting demons. We should help them! We may be able to salvage some of the Wardens.”

 

“Solona, really?” Hawke snapped. 

 

“If the warriors raise a blade against us then we kill them all, alright? Happy, Garret?” Solona snarled. 

 

“Stop it, the both of you!” Cullen’s voice cut the argument down before it even began. “Are we saving those Wardens or not?”

 

“Yes,” Sol said gratefully. This way!” She led them beyond the room and out into the top of another set of battlements. Down below, in a courtyard, there were Wardens indeed battling shades. Cullen refused to use the rift. What he’d seen on the other side was unlike anything he knew. It was too dangerous with so many demons about. Solona ran past him, leaping over the side and transforming into a bear as she landed among the demons. Her roar scared more Wardens than the demons themselves. 

 

Cullen took the more conventional route down the stairs and joined the fray. He ran up behind a demon and drove his sword into it, withdrawing his blade quickly to parry another blow from a demon to his right as another charged his left. He pushed the demon to his right back with his shield. Something clawed at his thigh. He grunted and brought the shield around, smashing it into the left demon’s side. He sliced into it and followed with the swing to cut down the right. He could feel hot blood running down his leg under his torn leathers. But it was just a flesh wound. He’d live.

 

With Cullen and the others reinforcing them, the Wardens managed to kill the demons quickly. They were backed into a corner, weapons drawn and wary of the Inquisition. “Stay back!” One of the Wardens said, holding an arrow drawn. He had a hooked nose, his hair tied back in a neat ponytail. “By the Maker, we don’t any part of this, Inquisition!” 

 

Cullen lowered his sword. “The Inquisition is here to stop Clarel!” he called out to them. “Not to kill Wardens. Lower your weapons!”

 

The bear walked towards the dark-haired Warden, shadows wrapping around her as she shifted back to human form. “Nathaniel!” Solona breathed. 

 

“Warden-Commander!” the Warden known as Nathaniel breathed. He lowered his bow. “Clarel said you were dead!” 

 

“Clarel said a lot of things,” she snarled. “I’m pleased to see you’re alive. Where’s the rest? Sigrun? Oghren?”

 

“We don’t know, they might not have made it, Commander.”

 

Solona’s eyes hardened. “Where is Clarel?”

 

“In the middle of the keep, with that damn Tevinter!” Nathaniel glanced at Cullen. “They’re talking a lot about you, Inquisitor. They mean to kill you today. Be wary.”

 

“Thank you, Warden,” Cullen said evenly. 

 

“Nathaniel, gather as many Wardens still friendly and join us where Clarel is. I have a feeling we’ll need reinforcements. And hurry!”

 

Nathaniel nodded and gestured from his men to follow, running off across the battlements.   

 

Cullen winced as the pain racked up his leg. Blast, of all the stupid things…

 

“Are you alright?” Hawke asked, seeing Cullen pressing down on the wound. 

 

“I have a bandage,” Cassandra said, reaching into her waist pack. 

 

“It’s fine-” Cullen said. 

 

“Don’t be stupid, Cullen,” Hawke chided and paused. “With respect.”

 

“Can’t you heal him?” Cassandra asked Hawke as she bound Cullen’s thigh with bandage. 

 

“Me? My healing spells are shit,” Hawke replied. 

 

“That is true,” Varric nodded. 

 

“Hurry up,” Solona said urgently. “We’re nearly at the middle of the keep. With any luck, I slap some sense into Clarel and we all get going!” 

 

Cassandra tied the knot and stood up. “It’s a bit early to be dying yet,” Cassandra slapped Cullen on the shoulder. 

 

“Dying isn’t on my to do list,” Cullen snapped. “Don’t worry. It’s just a scratch. Let’s move on.”

 

They ran on through the keep, through the rooms and passages that honeycombed the walls and eventually back onto the battlements, fighting demons and Wardens along the way. There were the sounds of fighting all through Adamant, the ringing of steel against steel like the singing of a flock of birds. They burst through a door to a room full of the dead, Wardens and demons alike, some Inquisition soldiers fighting and in the middle of it all, was Evelyn, her great sword glinting in the night. Her armour was already covered with blood. 

 

“Inquisitor!” she called out to him as she kicked a dead demon off her blade. She shouldered her blade and walked over to them. “Good. You made it. We’re nearly in the middle of the Castle. Morrigan’s flying above. She reports that Clarel is nearby.”

 

Solona laughed. “Morrigan. You convinced her to take part in a siege after all.”

 

“I commanded her. It’s not the same thing,” Cullen said. He looked at Evelyn. “That blood…”

 

“None of it mine,” she said evenly. “And you got a hit in the leg, I see.”

 

“There were two of them, at the same time,” Cullen pointed out. “Come on, Commander.”

 

“Wait, she’s coming with us?” Varric asked, shouldering Bianca

 

“Didn’t you hear their very vocal discussion?” Dorian asked coolly. “They were up all night yelling about it.”

 

“Don’t get them started again then,” Cassandra said drily. 

 

“Rest assured, the Commander and I will have a talk when this is over about her… changes of plans,” Cullen growled. She had insisted on leading the eastern wall’s escalade. Cullen had protested, but she had insisted. 

 

“Oh, I look forward to it, Inquisitor,” Evelyn met his gaze as the air seemed to spark between them with words unspoken. “Move your party into position, Inquisitor. Rylen and Jesso will hold a path back out for us for as long as we need.”

 

Cullen said nothing as they made their way through a pair of doors. “Can you feel it?” Dorian asked. “The veil is ripped apart here.”

 

“Feels like how chokedamp tastes, doesn’t it?” Hawke asked. 

 

Cullen found himself nodding and noticed Solona do the same. Something was wrong with this place, the closer they approached the centre of the keep. It scraped across the mind, made the spine shudder. They pushed open the final door to the centre of the keep. “Maker,” Cullen breathed as they stepped through. 

 

The Wardens were not even paying them mind, their eyes transfixed on a stairway balcony that overlooked the centre of the courtyard where a massive rift flickered in the air. Warden mages held it open with magic pouring from their hands. Erimond and a weathered soldier of a mage stood on the balcony as their latest sacrifice slumped to the ground, blood spiraling into the rift’s grasping green fire. 

 

“Varel!” Solona screamed, seeing the sacrificed man sink to the ground. 

 

The Warden warriors turned to Cullen and the others, drawing their weapons. The mages did not move, already bound to Corypheus. 

 

“Stop them!” Erimond snapped. “We must complete the ritual!” 

 

The Wardens seemed to hesitate. Cullen held up his hand to hold the party. “Clarel!” Solona cried, her hands balled into fists. 

 

“Warden Amell,” Clarel greeted, regret in her eyes. “You have joined the Inquisition. It has come to this.”

 

“She didn’t abandon you!” Cullen shouted, stepping forward. “Don’t do this, Clarel! He’s going to bind you to a demon!” 

 

“Oh yes!” Erimond cried sarcastically. “I’m going to bind the Warden-Commander to a demon! Everyone here already knows that! And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty!” 

 

“We make the sacrifices no one else will,” Clarel stepped forward. “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them!” 

 

“While he binds your mages to Corypheus!” Solona shouted, her hand cutting the air in her rage. Cullen could see Clarel’s eyes widen. “Erimond is an agent of the Venatori! He’s raising an army of demons to spread the Blight across the world.” Solona was seething. “You spilled Warden blood… the blood of our friends - our brothers and sisters! You spilled them to fuel the Blight!” 

 

Erimond leaned in to hiss in Clarel’s ear. She pressed her forehead with her fingers in indecision. 

 

“Bring it through,” Clarel said. 

 

“No!” Solona growled. 

 

“Don’t do this! I’ve seen my share of blood magic. It’s never worth the cost!” Hawke cried as the Wardens closed in on them. Evelyn raised her sword warily, standing close to Cullen. 

 

Above them all, the rift opened wider as the bound mages poured their magic into it. Cullen could see those eyes looking down at him, the infernal whispering reaching into his mind from the Fade. He felt the heat of his anger rising. All this senseless death to bring that… thing to this world. Whatever that demon was, it could not enter their world.

 

“The Inquisition is here to kill us!” one shouted back. 

 

“We’ve spared Wardens where we could. You’re not our enemy. Corypheus is our enemy!” Cullen shouted. He shook his head to still the whispering. “Maker’s breath, I don’t want to kill you, but you’re being used!” He looked up at them, his eyes glittering. “And some of you know it, don’t you?”

 

The Wardens stopped and looked over their shoulder at Clarel, then back at Cullen. “The mages who’ve done the ritual,” one said. “They’re… not right. They were my friends, but now they’re like puppets on a string…”

 

“You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!” Claren barked. 

 

“He’s not afraid!” Hawke snarled. “You are! You’re afraid that you ordered your men to die for nothing! You’re afraid that they know it!” 

 

“You know who I am,” Solona snarled at them. “I gave up everything for the Wardens. I would not stand against you without good reason. You know this is not the way, brothers and sisters!” 

 

The Wardens turned slowly now to look at Clarel, who frowned in uncertainty. She turned her eyes to Erimond, questioning silently. “Clarel, you have come so far,” Erimond hissed. “You’re the only one who can do this!” 

 

“Perhaps we could test the truth of these charges to avoid more bloodshed,” she said. 

 

Cullen felt his hope rise at her words. 

 

“Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally,” Erimond sneered and turned to look at the sky. 

 

Cullen raised his sword. “Erimond!” 

 

“Say the word and I stick a bolt through his teeth,” Varric snarled. “I can do it too, you know, it ain’t all just Sera.”

 

“My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor!” Erimond cried, his staff tapping on the ground, flaring red like a heartbeat. “He sent me this to welcome you!” 

 

A roar from the sky, ancient, sepulchral, reptilian. The beating of wings echoed the tapping of the staff. 

 

“Fuck,” Varric growled as all eyes turned to the heavens. The dragon dove and let out a blast of red lyrium fire. Cullen threw himself to the ground, or was he thrown. Evelyn lay next to him, her hand on his arm as much as his was on hers as the fire burned overhead, the dragon’s wing beats blasting hot air down upon them.

 

Evelyn snarled and raised her sword. “Don’t even think about it!” Cullen snapped at her. The dragon’s wings smashed a griffon statue apart as they tried to stand, showering stone upon them as the beast circled overhead. 

 

Evelyn growled, holding her sword as she stared at the beast. 

 

“We’re in trouble now,” Varric muttered.

 

“What is that thing?” Solona exclaimed. “Archdemon?”

 

The dragon landed on the roof and spread its tattered wings, roaring viciously to the sky, the sound of it chilling the blood. Cullen heard Erimond laughing as he raised his arms. He shouted down to Cullen, “Now you see, Inquisitor, the--” 

 

A blast of lightning silenced him. Clarel stood over Erimond, her hand sparking like the heart of the storm. Erimond reached out to her, but her blast fired off towards the dragon, sparking harmlessly across its scales. The dragon roared and fired a breath of crystalline flame that threw Clarel to the ground. With two mighty wing beats, it took to the air again. 

 

The rift started to flare violently as something began to crawl out of it - something huge, purple horned fingers grasping a Warden mage and flinging him into the stones as it roared. The dragon fired again on Clarel. Cullen saw Erimond take off running. “Help the Inquisitor!” Clarel commanded before the took off after Erimond. 

 

“Your life is full of surprises, Cullen,” Hawke noted drily as he stared up at the pride demon. 

 

The door behind them slammed open, Nathaniel and a dwarf that smelled like a brewery burst in with other Gray Wardens. “Solona, can your Wardens deal with that thing?” Cullen asked urgently. 

 

“Nate, Oghren, Sigrun, I want this demon’s head on my wall at Vigils!” Solona grinned at them. 

 

“I want it’s balls on mine!” The smelly dwarf roared and charged headlong into the fray. “Who’s your daddy! OGHREN’S YOUR DADDY!” 

 

Cullen would be shocked later. “Cassandra, cover them!” Cullen barked. “Follow us when you can! Sol, Hawke, Eve, with me.” 

 

They ran off after Erimond, skirting the battle erupting around the pride demon. Cullen winced as the cut in his leg flared with pain with every step. He could hear the beating of wings above his head, fading in and out of the distance. They reached the top of the battlements. Cullen could see Clarel in the distance as they climbed higher into the keep. The keep shook violently then. The dragon clawing on the side of it. It eyed them and let loose a gout of flame. They hit the ground in time. The beast clawed at the ancient stones and then took to the air once more. 

 

Cullen swore, standing up. “We have to catch her!” Solona cried. 

 

“Erimond’s the one I want!” Cullen snapped as they took off running, after Clarel. 

 

“I want his head on my wall!” Evelyn snarled. “So I can throw knives at it!” 

 

“Wait in line!” Solona smirked at her. 

 

“Women are vicious,” Hawke noted morosely.

 

They rounded a corner, emerging at the highest point of the keep, a large courtyard at the top of the battlements, one end open to the cliff that hugged the north side of Adamant. Clarel was advancing upon Erimond, his spells bouncing off her barrier hopelessly. She drew the rocks from the ground with her magic and knocked Erimond off his feet. Erimond groaned and rolled off his back as Clarel blocked his escape. Cullen and the others ran up to them. “--stupid bitch,” Erimond snarled at her. “All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes and you couldn’t wait to get your hands bloody!”

 

Clarel snarled and threw Erimond back across the stones with a blast from her staff. Erimond whimpered pathetically as Cullen approached him. Clarel strode to Erimond from the opposite direction, her eyes hard and her mouth pulled back in a snarl. “You could have served a new god,” Erimond groaned. 

 

“I will never serve the Blight!” Clarel snarled. She raised her staff. 

 

Like a silent nightmare, the dragon landed on the courtyard and snapped Clarel in its jaws. Cullen staggered back as it took off and landed on the higher battlements behind them, whipping its head back and forth with Clarel in its mouth. 

 

“Clarel!” Solona screamed as the dragon tossed her body to the stones. Clarel bounced like a rag doll and rolled to a stop. 

 

Cullen looked up at the dragon then, it’s eyes upon him. He raised his sword and shield, for all the good it would do against the beast’s fire and started to back away with the others. The dragon stalked towards them, it’s head low, it's lips pulled back viciously. Clarel rolled onto her front, bleeding from a dozen wounds. 

 

“Andraste preserve us,” Cullen breathed as he braced for a fight, the end of the courtyard closing in as they backed away from the dragon. 

 

“In war, victory,” Clarel whimpered as the dragon’s shadow passed over her. She gasped and rolled onto her back, her strength failing her. “In peace, vigilance…”

 

The dragon lowered itself to pounce. Lightning sparked from Clarel’s raised fist. Where her body was failing her, her will would not waver. Cullen saw the creature leap and Clarel’s final spell explode under it, throwing the dragon into the air over them. It landed heavily on the stones behind them, throwing them off their feet, clawing at the rocks as it fell. The courtyard began to shake all around them. “Run!” Cullen barked as the end of the courtyard began to fall apart, tumbling down into the cliff. 

 

Solona lost her footing, catching the edge of the courtyard as she fell. Cullen ran back, sliding on the stones as he pulled her up. He pushed her ahead, the cracks of the courtyard spidering before him. He felt the whole ground move then as the piece he was on broke away. Cullen screamed as he fell, the walls of Adamant and the cliff rising by him, the bodies of the others hanging in the air. Not like this, his mind screamed. They could not die!

  
Then, the mark flaring and wrapping the world around him in green fire to the ringing of a thousand bells. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW TO THE JUICY PART. Envy, fear, darkness in the Fade! Not the best of dates with your new girlfriend. Also, I think I'm writing too fast. I need like... to slow down or something...


	24. Fears and Failures in the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen fails, and at what cost?

Cullen’s throat burned from screaming. He opened his eyes and saw the ground rising up to meet him. Then his stomach turned as his body slowed and he fell… upwards, away from the ground, spinning only to turn and hover. He looked up at… the ground. He looked back the way he had risen and saw… a green sky. Swallowing hard, he reached out a finger hesitantly to the rock by his head. Then some spell was broken and he tumbled to the ground. His sword and shield clanged down beside him. Cullen groaned and rolled over onto his front, grabbing his sword. He pulled on his shield. This place was one of madness. Towering spires of rock floated in the air. Water fell from those impossible floating spires, splashing into the puddles that glittered in the slimy ground. 

 

“Where are we?” he heard. Evelyn was staring out into the depths of the strange place. Her hair drenched from the puddle she landed in. 

 

“What in the Maker’s name is going on?” Cullen looked up and paled. Evelyn swore behind him. “Andraste’s fucking tits!” Solona stood on the side of a spire which to her was as much of the ground as what was under his feet. Solona turned and looked up at Cullen. “What are you doing up there?” 

 

“Is this the Fade then?” Hawke asked, crossing his arms. He stood on the underside of an overhang. Cullen gripped his sword tighter. Don’t go to pieces. Don’t go to pieces. He was on the other side of a rift, there was nothing but the Fade beyond that. “The Chantry owes me an apology,” Hawke grumbled. “This looks nothing like the Maker’s bosom.”

 

Evelyn looked at him with wild eyes. “If this is the Fade, then we’re… dead?” she asked. 

 

“No,” Solona said, her voice hollow. “I think… I think Cullen opened a rift. We must have… fallen through.”

 

“We’re standing in the Fade,” Evelyn breathed, her voice almost drowned out but the strange echoing creaks in the air that sounded like the straining rigging of a massive ship. 

 

“It wasn’t like this the last time I was here,” Hawke muttered. 

 

“Maybe because this time, we’re really here, not in a dream but physically,” Solona said. 

 

“Bad things happened the last time people walked the Fade physically,” Evelyn grated. “Bad, bad things!” She caught her breath as she looked up at the sky. She snarled in frustration. “And what is that damnable creaking?”

 

“Cullen?” Hawke called. 

 

Cullen looked up from where he had been staring at the ground. This was all impossible. The Fade was a realm of dreams and mages and demons. He met Hawke’s eyes. “They say you fell out of the Fade at Haven,” Hawke said. “Was it like this?”

 

“I don’t remember!” Cullen snarled, anger taking over him. His voice echoed against the rocks, bouncing off into the yawning void of the green sky. He looked up at the clouds that gathered above, spinning into a vortex in the distance. Cullen’s heart sank. He knew where another rift was. And he knew what he saw inside it.

 

Hawke seemed startled by Cullen’s vehemence. “Then, can we open a rift here to go back?” he asked placatingly. 

 

“We were falling and wound up here,” Solona said. “If we open a rift and hop through from here, we might wind up landing on that damn dragon.”

 

“Then where do we go to get out?” Evelyn asked. She turned to the sky. “What about that thing where Erimond was? Can we go through that rift?” Cullen wanted to speak, to tell them about the eyes… but he couldn’t. After all that happened, to be here again, as if Envy and Kinloch Hold wasn’t enough--

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away from it. Evelyn looked up at him, her eyes gentle but her voice hard. “Cullen, focus. Can we go through the other rift?” she asked. 

 

Cullen looked up at the sky. He swallowed. “We can try,” he said. 

 

“Good,” she said. “Then we get there, kill everything in our path, find that bastard Erimond and stick his damn head on a pike.”

 

“I second that,” Solona growled, tenderly stepping onto the ground on which Cullen stood. She straightened up and reached out for Hawke who took her hand and instantly tumbled to the ground when their fingers touched. 

 

“Argh. Fuck the Fade!” Hawke grunted as he stood up.

 

Solona snorted and helped him up. 

 

“How can she laugh at a time like this?” Evelyn murmured to Cullen. 

 

“She’s the Hero of Ferelden,” he said quietly. “You have to be a little crazy to be a hero, I think.”

 

There were wisps in the distance as they threaded their way over the uneven ground. Puddles of dark water made the rocks beneath their feet slippery and treacherous. They paid the wisps no mind and moved on forward. There were strange stairs. Cullen wondered whose feet they were carved for. Two towering Kirkwall hawks loomed over them, coated with unknowable slime. Cullen was sweating already. The Fade was humid. None of them had sheathed their weapons, except Solona who carried none. The sound of the creaking echoed overhead as they reached the top of the stairs. 

 

Evelyn gasped as she reached the top of the stairs, staring ahead, her face pale as if she’d seen a ghost. Cullen looked up and froze. Standing before them, her robes streaked with the strange slime that coated the place, was Divine Justinia. She smiled at them warmly as they approached. 

 

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen’s words escaped him. “That’s--”

 

“Divine Justinia?” Hawke gaped. 

 

The Divine’s smile was warm. “I greet you, Warden,” she said. It was her voice. “And you as well, Champion and Commander.”

 

Cullen frowned, his grip tightening on his sword. “What are you?” he demanded. “Spirit? Demon? The real Divine couldn’t have survived Haven.”

 

“Couldn’t she?” she said to Cullen, holding her hands before her. “How much of Haven do you truly remember. You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand yourself, in the Fade.”

 

Cullen said nothing, his eyes glittering coldly. He could remember nothing… nothing more than a woman behind him and dark creatures chasing him. It was like a dream.

 

“In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have,” Justinia said. 

 

Hawke snorted. “Rubbish. How hard can it be to answer one question? I’m a human, and you are…?”

 

“I am here to help you.” 

 

“Was the Divine always this snarky?” Hawke snapped. 

 

Justinia turned back to Cullen. “Inquisitor, you do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

 

“And how would you know I was made Inquisitor?” Cullen asked. 

 

“I have examined memories like yours in the Fade,” Justinia said, spreading her hands. “Memories stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror.” She looked at Solona. “The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work. And this place of darkness? Its lair.”

 

“I’ll wring every drop of Warden blood spilt from it’s filthy neck,” Solona growled. 

 

“It doesn’t have a neck,” Cullen said hollowly. 

 

“What do you mean?” Evelyn asked. “How would you know?”

 

“I… saw it,” Cullen’s eyes met hers. “Beyond the rift at Adamant. It’s… it’s big. And it is there waiting at the rift?” Cullen asked Justinia. 

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, shit.”

 

“So to get through the rift, we need to kill it,” Evelyn said. She turned to Justinia. “How do we hurt it?”

 

“You hurt it by escaping the Fade and defeating Corypheus.”

 

“That isn’t what I meant.”

 

“I know, gentle Commander. But it is the best answer I can give you for now.” She walked up to Cullen, who found himself tensing at her approach. “When you entered the Fade at Haven, Inquisitor, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it.”

 

“What?” Cullen breathed. “How did it… I don’t remember--”

 

“That is what it stole from you.” Justinia held out her hand, something golden and wavering flickered there. Cullen backed away from it. “Fear not, Inquisitor,” Justinia went on gently. “You have been thrice touched, but this time, you burn like a comet in the Fade. This time, your sword is real.”

 

Cullen caught her eye, his heart hammering in his ears. His sword was real. If he could believe in nothing else, let it be his blade and the Will of the Maker. He reached out for the golden glow with his marked hand. 

 

The mark flared with gold this time, his head split with pain as if his mind were torn open. Visions poured in, memories of walking down the hallways of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, seeking out the Knight-Commander of Ferelden at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. 

 

“Why are you doing this?” Justinia’s voice rang out. “You of all people?”

 

He heard the voice that shook his soul to the core, booming from a door he was passing. “Keep the sacrifice still,” it tolled. 

 

“Someone! Help me!” 

 

Cullen heard the flutter of paper in his vision as he dropped the reports he held. He heard his feet pounding on the ground as he ran for the door and threw it open. There were Wardens within, binding the Divine in the air with magic, their eyes turned to look at him. Lucid eyes. “What’s going on here?” Cullen shouted. 

 

Corypheus stood before the Divine, holding the orb in his hand as it blazed with green light. He turned his eyes to Cullen, dark and red and full of malice, burning into his soul, eyes that were the whole universe. Cullen felt the fear fill him, rooting him to the spot. “We have an intruder,” Corypheus said. “Kill him.”

 

The Divine wrenched her hand free from her bind and knocked the orb from Corypheus’s grasp. The orb thudded heavily to the ground, still ablaze with light. Cullen saw his own hand reach out for it as it rolled to him.  _ He can’t have it _ , he heard himself think. As his fingers closed over it, the world went white. He heard his own scream, quickly cut short. 

 

Cullen’s sword clattered to the ground. He winced and gripped his left wrist the mark burning with agony at the memory of when it was set into his flesh. It was more pain than he’d ever felt. “Cullen!” Evelyn held his shoulders as he sank to his knees. “What’s happening?” Evelyn demanded of the Divine.

 

“His body remembers the pain of the mark’s first touch,” he heard Justinia say over the roar of his own breathing. “I am sorry, gentle Templar, but this must be done.”

 

He looked up into Evelyn’s worried eyes, full of fear. He balled his hand into a fist, swallowing the pain. “I’m fine,” he gasped. “Just..” She bit her lip and nodded. 

 

“So your mark came from the orb Corypheus used,” Solona said, holding her head. “Not from Andraste.”

 

“You all saw that?” Cullen breathed. 

 

“We did,” Hawke said. 

 

“Corypheus intended to use the anchor to rip open the veil, storm the Fade and rip open the doors of the Black City,” Justinia said. “Not for the old gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the anchor upon you instead.”

 

Cullen looked down at the mark. He closed his fist. “That’s it?” he snarled. 

 

“Yes.”

 

“That tells me nothing!” he shouted. “All that tells me is that I should break that fucking orb the next time I see it!” 

 

“And yet even that may help you,” Justinia said coolly. 

 

Cullen pressed the balls of his fists against his forehead. Led on like a puppet on a string, the cursed mark shaping his destiny. And he’d done it to himself! He was no Herald. This was not the Maker’s will or Andraste’s blessing. This was just a stupid accident, a fluke! He screamed silently through grit teeth. 

 

“Maker’s balls, Cullen!” Evelyn snapped, shaking his shoulders. “Stop it!” She looked up at him. “You freak out, I freak out! Keep it together, for fuck’s sake! We need to get out of here!” 

 

Cullen looked into her eyes, the hint of fear, the sheer grit keeping her together. She needed him. He couldn’t fly apart. He bit his lip and drew a deep breath. “Andraste preserve me,” he whispered. 

 

“You cannot escape the lair of the nightmare without recovering all it,” Justinia said. “You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way forward.”

 

Cullen blinked and she was gone. “Something troubles you, Garret,” Solona was saying. 

 

“Oh, I don’t know, other than the Gray Wardens holding the Divine in that vision?” he snapped. 

 

“I assumed he’d taken their minds,” Solona raised an eyebrow. “As you’ve seen him do before.” She shook her head. “We can argue once we escape, alright?”

 

“Oh, I intend to,” Hawke growled. 

 

Evelyn looked up at Cullen. “You alright?” she asked softly as she handed him his sword. “Stay with me. I’m hanging on by a thread.”

 

“Me too,” he admitted quietly. “Let’s go.”

 

They headed on along the path, the strange foreign landscape was impossible to understand. Statues stood out from the walls, candles burned downwards from overhangs. Cullen tore his eyes away from the strangeness. It was like Envy’s dream. Thrice touched, Justinia had said. They descended another flight of stairs, taking them into a wet pit.

 

_ Ah… we have a visitor... _

 

Cullen stopped as did the others. “Did you--” he began, his eyes wild. He heard a growl then as demons flashed into existence. Cullen raised his sword as they attacked. 

 

_ Some foolish little boy comes to take the fear I so kindly lifted from his shoulders, _ the voice went on. Cullen parried a demon’s strike and drove his sword into the shade’s eye. Evelyn’s blade was tearing demons apart with her fierce cry. He felt a barrier rise over him as he blocked another strike with his blade and drove his shield into the demon’s maw. He cut its head off and it fell into the water at his ankles. 

 

_ You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, Cullen. Or have you come to lay more fears at my feet. I can help you, you know… _

 

“That thing needs to shut up!” Evelyn growled as she charged a wisp and cut it in two. A giant spider had pinned a demon under the water, its mandibles ripping the demon’s face apart as it screamed. 

 

_ You and your friends are guests here in my home, however. So allow me to bid you welcome to the feast… _

 

Cullen snarled and drove his sword into a demon. He pulled it out viciously, his eyes cold. 

 

He was in the Fade. These were demons. Templars were trained to kill demons. Nightmare would die today.

 

Solona wrapped herself in shadows and turned human once more. She was looking at her hands thoughtfully. 

 

“This damn demon is going to get tiresome,” Hawke said. 

 

“If it is a demon of fear, it will prey on all of us,” Cullen said. “Brace yourself.”

 

“How?” 

 

“Weren’t you in the Fade before?”

 

“Yes, and all my friends betrayed me. Not fun. You don’t like big boats do you?”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah, Isabela. A big boat and a hundred lads to answer her every whim and her own desire demon under the covers.” Hawke sighed. “I couldn’t compete.”

 

“Just remember why you’re here,” Cullen said. “Remember that you’re being manipulated. Remember that it will say anything and do anything to find a crack, to get  its way in. Knowing that, try to keep focused. Don’t let it in.”

 

“Discipline, fortitude, mind like a fortress,” Evelyn intoned, swiping her sword of demon’s blood. “Templar training.”

 

“The Divine said you were thrice-touched,” Solona said as they moved on through the Fade, climbing more stairs out of the pit. “What did she mean?”

 

“She means that I have been at the hands of demons three times already,” Cullen said hollowly. 

 

Solona glanced at him, he did not meet her eyes as they continued on. “Three times?” Hawke said softly. Cullen caught Evelyn nudging him quiet. She… understood. Not perfectly, but she knew his condition. There were always Templars who had suffered at the hands of Mages in the barracks, Templars who didn’t know what day it was. Cullen felt himself unnaturally lucky to have been able to pull out of that dark place. He had seen some who never did recover enough to function. They were cared for until they… disappeared. No one asked where they went. How many had vanished like Carroll?

 

_ Or perhaps I should be afraid, facing some of the strongest heroes of Thedas…  _ the voice whispered over their heads. They all looked up. They all walked on. 

 

_ How much do you trust each other? How much do you truly know each other? _

 

“It will say anything,” Cullen reminded them. “Anything it has to.”

 

_ Such wise words, aren’t they, Evelyn? What would his course of wisdom be when he finds out about you? _

 

Cullen’s jaw tensed. He looked at Evelyn, who stared ahead. “It will say anything,” he said to her. “Let’s try to keep that in--” They stopped dead in their tracks, their way barred by a barrier of Fade fire. Cullen could feel the heat of it even from a distance. “Is there another way around?” Solona asked. 

 

Cullen peered into the flames, someone was walking out of it. He stared at the figure. It was a mage with dark unruly hair. He was donned in a Circle Robe, a dagger in his hand. “What is this?” he asked. 

 

“A fear, possibly,” Solona said. “Probably trying to manifest-”

 

Another figure stepped through the fire, this one a lanky youth with parted hair, donned in Ferelden skins. He lifted a massive two-handed sword and grinned. “Hello, brother,” he said. 

 

“Carver…” Hawke breathed. “I am going to  _ tear _ this demon apart!” 

 

The mage raised his dagger and stabbed into his hand, blood began to spiral into the air from the wound. Cullen felt his skin crawl, his heart hammer in his ears. They would reach into his mind. His breath quickened as he raised his sword and shield with mage’s charge, blood dancing around him. Carver charged straight for Hawke, a wicked grin on his face. Cullen braced for the attack as the battle erupted. He blocked the blood strike with his shield and brought his sword down on the charging mage. A huge blade blocked his strike, parrying it and swiping his swing wide. Evelyn looked up at him, her body between him and the attacking mage, her eyes wide and vulnerable, almost confused. 

 

“What are you--” Cullen exclaimed. 

 

Then she gasped as the blade buried deep into her side. The mage grinned over her shoulder. “They were right about me, little sister,” he whispered in her ear.

 

She cried out when the blade was pulled from her side and the mage darted back, Evelyn’s blood on his hand spiralling and blazing with darkness. Cullen caught Evelyn as she stumbled. She pushed him away. “Help the others,” she growled and raised her blade. She turned and charged the mage. This was her fear, Cullen realized, not his. Cullen saw Hawke and Solona making short work of the spiders and ran after Evelyn, his thigh stinging with every step he took. Her blade was flashing as she blocked the strikes and parried the blasts from the mage who was laughing as she fought. “You think you can save me?” the mage taunted as Evelyn closed in. He blocked her sword with his bare hands, more blood drawn spiralling in the air.

 

Evelyn said nothing, her blue eyes flashing, glowing. She snarled and let out a battle cry, her body flashing blue, dissipating the blood. The mage staggered back and dodged a blow from Cullen’s sword. The mage laughed and vanished in a burst of frost, Cullen turned, the mage now behind Evelyn. “Another favour for a favour?” the mage laughed. “More Knight-Captains to take into your bed, little sister? What’s he to give you this time?”

 

Evelyn spun around and was blasted back with a strike of blood. She careened into Cullen and they both staggered. Evelyn found her footing. “Flank him,” Cullen said. 

 

The blood was spiralling around the mage like a whirling tornado as Cullen charged him head on, Evelyn taking off to the side. “Want my little sister, Templar?” the mage grinned, raising his arms to cast. “Want to know what she did to rise?”

 

Tendrils of blood burst from the spiral. He blocked one with his shield, the blood spattering around him. The next he dodged and charged forward, plunging his shield through the tornado of blood as it spiralled faster around him, cutting through his skin. The mage only grinned until  a blade burst through his chest from the back. 

 

The mage stilled, arms slumping, the blood spiralling off through the air as if loosed from a sling. Evelyn snarled behind the mage and screamed as she pulled her blade upwards, splitting the mage in half from stomach to shoulder. Her sword smashed into the ground as the corpse slumped at Cullen’s feet. “You failed at everything, Garret!” Cullen heard Carver shout. He turned just in time to see Carver set ablaze. The shade of Carver screamed in pain as he was set alight. Hawke held out his hand, his eyes hard. “Sorry, demon,” he growled. “Not today.” Solona put her hand on Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke shut his eyes, his jaw tensing as he extinguished the flames. The shade of Carver slumped to the ground and vanished into ash.

 

Evelyn was breathing heavily, standing with her back to Cullen. She roared then and smashed a rock with her sword, lyrium glowing from her body, her shoulders visibly shaking with sobs. She raised her blade to strike the rocks again.

 

“Evelyn!” Cullen barked. She stilled, not looking at him. Then she stormed off as the mage’s corpse began to burn with Fade fire. Something golden glowed in the fire. Cullen looked at Evelyn, leaning against a rock as she calmed down, her bloody sword in her hand, tears streaming down her face as she held her wounded side. 

 

“What was that?” Hawke asked as he and Solona joined them. “A blood mage fear?”

 

Solona looked at Cullen. “Yours?” she asked quietly. 

 

“No,” Cullen murmured. “I don’t think so. Sol, can you help her--” 

 

“Just take it,” Evelyn said. “Forget about me and get your memory back!”

 

Cullen said nothing. She wasn’t looking at him. Her brother was a mage? What did Nightmare mean by ‘favours’? “Evelyn,” he said, watching her. “That was your fear?”

 

She glanced at him and straightened up. “Yes,” she said softly, wincing as she held her side. She blinked away the tears. “I’m sorry for getting in your way, Inquisitor. I was confused.” Solona walked up to her and held her hand over the wound in Evelyn’s side. 

 

“Who wa- is he?” Cullen asked. 

 

“My brother, Eduard,” she murmured. “He’s a mage at the Tears, Ostwick’s Circle.” She grit her teeth as the healing spell began to work.

 

“Your brother is a blood mage?” Cullen exclaimed. 

 

“He isn’t!” Evelyn snapped. “They suspected but found no evidence. He’d never do this! I just thought… thought that it was him. He walks the Fade sometimes. I was confused.”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Then… the fav-”

 

“Don’t ask me this!” she shouted, her voice echoing. “Not… not now. Please. This isn’t the time,” she insisted. 

 

As the fade fire that formed the barrier burned away, the Divine approached them through the remnants of the flames. “The Nightmare is closer now,” she warned. “It knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger.”

 

“And this thing?” Cullen asked. “We were just attacked by a blood mage!”

 

“The Nightmare seeks to break you all,” the Divine said. 

 

“This is the Fade,” Solona said as she checked Evelyn’s wound. “Demons will manifest in forms that hurt us most, to unnerve each of us.”

 

Evelyn was still visibly shaking. Cullen turned to the Divine. She reached down to the golden glow and lifted it gently in her cupped hand. What more was there to remember? This place. The Fade. He bit his lip and held out his marked hand to it. The world blazed white. 

 

Visions in his mind - the darkness of the Fade, the rocks underfoot as he scrambled away from the demons that chased him. Spiders, or something like them. He heard his breathing in his own ears as he climbed the spire as fast as his armour could allow. He looked up at the Divine above him at the top of the tower, reaching out to him. “The demons!” she cried urgently. She took his hand as Cullen clambered to the top of the spire. There was a rift there. He held onto the Divine’s hand as they made a dash for the rift. 

 

Then something held her back, something in the darkness of the Fade, a thousand chitinous eyes watching them. Cullen felt his words catch in his throat as she whimpered to the sound of breaking bones, her body being held. The Divine looked up at him, her eyes gentle. She smiled. “Go,” she said, and released his hand. 

 

“No!” Cullen shouted as she vanished into the darkness of the Fade. The demons clambered over the top of the tower. His eyes wild, he turned and fled, leaping through the green light. 

 

Cullen shook his head where he stood and turned to the Divine. He could still feel the shadow of her grip in his hand from the memory. “It was you,” he said softly. Her eyes were full of sadness as she met his gaze. “They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade but it was the Divine behind me. And then you… she died.”

 

Justinia held her hands in front of her. “Yes,” she said. 

 

“So this Divine is simply a spirit,” Solona said as she and Evelyn joined Cullen. 

 

“What a surprise,” Hawke snorted sarcastically. 

 

“I am sorry if I disappoint you,” said Justinia. Hawke’s gaze softened. 

 

She began to glow then, burning from within, her eyes orbs of light. Cullen shielded his eyes as the Divine was wreathed in light. Her form was now made of it, rising above them with her mitre on her head. A creature of light. The Divine. Cullen stared in wonder and fear. “Are you… her soul?” he breathed. 

 

“If that is the story you wish to tell, it is not a bad one,” the spirit said. 

 

“What we do know is that the mortal Divine died at the Temple, thanks to the Gray Wardens,” Hawke frowned. 

 

“They were under Corypheus’s mind control,” Solona growled. “Maker’s breath! We can discuss this later once we get back to Adamant!”

 

“Right, Adamant,” Hawke glared at her. “Where the Inquisition soldiers face an army of demons who were, gasp, raised by the Gray Wardens!” 

 

Solona grabbed Hawke’s gorget. “How dare you judge us?” she snarled. “You tore Kirkwall apart and started the mage rebellion!” 

 

“To protect innocents! Not madmen drunk on blood magic!” Hawke smacked her hand away. “Even without Corypheus and his influence, the Wardens go too far! You just can’t imagine a world without Wardens, even if that’s what we need!” 

 

“Don’t you dare say that to my face after everything I sacrificed!” she shouted. “My future, my past, everything! I gave it all to stop the Blight! To save your stupid neck and everyone else in the world!” 

 

Cullen spun around. “For pity’s sake will you both just shut up!” he shouted. “We’ll argue after we get past that giant fear demon!” 

 

“Cullen!” Evelyn shouted, raising her blade. Figures were rising from the ground in the way ahead of them. Cullen paled at the sight of the bald head, the hooked nose, the sneer. Uldred. “Maker preserve me,” Cullen whimpered softly. 

 

The other was a ghoul, blighted by the taint, eyes pale and unseeing, body barely moving straight as he held his sword and shield. The crown of Ferelden was askew on his head of sandy blond hair. “Alistair,” Solona breathed, her heart in her eyes. 

 

“The Nightmare has found us,” the spirit whispered and vanished. 

 

“Sword up!” Evelyn barked. “Hawke, take the flank!”

 

Cullen’s heart was beating in his ears as he raised his blade. 

 

_ They had made it to the doors of the Circle, but the doors were barred from the outside. Cullen left the mages in the care of Wynne. There were only three of Templars now, Ainsley, Knight-Captain Thaddeus and himself. They were going to scout the Circle for more mages but Uldred found them in the library.  _

 

_ Cullen had been terrified. Demons were raised from the ground, some bound to mages he recognized. One was huge, towering above them. A pride demon. Uldred’s pet. Cullen fought, his voice screaming, he was so terrified, but he fought until his arm hurt, his sword grip wet with demon blood. He saw the Knight-Captain picked up and held aloft by the demon, his lyrium bursting from his body causing the beast no pain. The demon looked at Cullen then, as if making sure he was watching, and tore the Knight-Captain in half. Cullen wept as he charged in the rain of blood from the Knight-Captain’s body. _

 

_ He raised his blade, cutting down demons. He fought to get to Uldred.  _

 

_ Then, his blood caught fire. He screamed, his body stiffening as Uldred watched him with clinical eyes. His sword was real. He pushed past the pain, and saw a look flicker across Uldred’s face. A demon barred his path. “Cullen!” it screamed. Cullen beat down upon it mercilessly, it tried to parry his strikes, but the force of Cullen’s attack was too great. He grabbed the demon’s head and struck it with his pommel. The demon managed to pull free. _

 

_ He stiffened then as his legs broke under him. Cullen sank to the ground, screaming in pain, a weight pressed onto his body, pinning him down, his sword wrenched from his grasp. Uldred just smiled at him and let the pain flare anew.  _

 

Someone struck him across the face. Cullen blinked and gasped as he found himself face to face with a bear on top of him, great paws pinning his arms and legs down. “What--” he breathed. 

 

The bear roared at him in rage and lumbered off him. Solona wrapped herself in shadow and turned human, but she stayed on all fours, her body streaked with blood, her limbs visibly shaking. “Finally,” Hawke said, standing over Cullen. There was blood running down the man’s face. 

 

Cullen’s eyes darted about wildly as he sat up, his arm burned from exertion, his body hurting from a dozen places. His leg was bleeding through the bandages. “What happened?”

 

“Where do I begin?” Hawke growled. 

 

Cullen saw Evelyn slumped against a rock. Her head drooping forward, her furs streaked with blood and her breastplate rent from a sword strike. She wasn’t moving, her hair stuck out around her head, shorter than before. 

 

Cullen felt the rising panic. “What happened?” he demanded. 

 

Hawke gave him a look faintly tinged with disgust. “You know the word ‘berserk’?” Hawke asked. “Because that’s what you did. Not only did you stab Alistair in the face and tear that mage’s jaw off, you also…” Hawke glanced at Evelyn.

 

“Maker, no... “ Cullen breathed, pulling himself to his feet. He staggered from the pain in his thigh and fell to his knees beside Evelyn, grasping her shoulders. Her head lolled back, bruised across the temple from a strike, blood caking her hair cut short as if with a quick blade strike. “Maker, please,” he wept, pulling her into his arms, clutching her helplessly to his body. She smelt of blood. “Please, what did I do? Evie… Andraste, please… tell me I didn’t…”

 

“She’s alive,” Hawke said, his hand on Cullen’s shoulder as Cullen held Evelyn. “She’s just… We have to wait for her to wake up. We’re not going anywhere for a while.”

 

_ And so you fail again, Cullen. You thought you had it all under control… How does it feel to have brought her to an inch of death? _

 

Cullen’s scream of rage filled the air, rising like the tempest and the storm to the mocking, fading laughter of the Nightmare. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, I hate the Fade. I hate it for what it does to characters. Especially Cullen, who might be losing to his PTSD.


	25. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen escapes the Fade but finds that he's the nightmare is in his waking world.

“Do you need more lyrium?” asked Hawke as Solona knelt beside Evelyn, her hands glowing as she tried to heal the Templar. Evelyn was still unconscious, lying on the rocky ground.

 

“No,” Solona said tersely, her eyes hard. “I need more time.”

 

“We may not have that.”

 

Cullen stood by them, his sword drawn as they watched for more demons. He said nothing. He couldn’t think of anything to say, he couldn’t even look at them. He prayed silently, praying for her to wake up, for him to wake up, for this to be all… just a nightmare.

 

His hand tightened on the grip of his sword. Nightmare. He would make that demon pay for this. For everything. Then, once it was dead, he would… be angry with himself. He thought he had it all under control. He thought wrong. Evelyn was paying the price.

 

Hawke came and stood beside him, his staff held low. Cullen didn’t look at him.

 

“It happens to everyone,” Hawke said.

 

“Please don’t try to excuse me,” Cullen croaked.

 

Hawke fell silent.

 

Cullen looked ahead. “Hawke, what did I do?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

 

Hawke glanced at him. “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked. “You will not like it.”

 

“I have to know.”

 

Hawke sighed. “You… screamed and attacked. I’ve never seen anything like what you did. You turned aside that mage’s spells like they were nothing. Then you fought Alistair and drove your sword through his face. Then you jumped on the mage and… yeah, you literally pulled his jaw off. You threw it there, somewhere.” Hawke sighed as he gestured off to the distance. “Then you tried to kill me.”

 

“What?” Cullen gasped.

 

“Don’t worry, you didn’t, obviously. I think you were still out of it. You attacked me and Evelyn stepped in but you cut her. Then, you grabbed her hair and hit her with the pommel of your sword. I cut her hair to free her. Then Sol jumped on you as a bear. We got your sword away but still, you kicked like a madman.”

 

Cullen blinked back the tears. “Maker… This is… I can’t…”

 

“What was going on in your head, Cullen?”

 

He looked down at the ground. “It was like I was back there,” he rasped. “Back at Ferelden. I thought I was fighting Uldred and his demons. I… all I saw was that. I didn’t know…”

 

“It’s not your fau--” Hawke began and stopped. “No, you won’t believe me if I told you. You need to work it out on your own.”

 

There was a glimmer of light before them. Cullen wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked up as the spirit of the Divine appeared.

 

“Where have you been?” Hawke asked.

 

“The Nightmare closes in on you, you must make haste,” the spirit said urgently.

 

“We can’t,” Cullen said, glancing at Evelyn. “We’re not leaving her behind.”

 

The spirit looked at Solona. “Use the lyrium in her blood, whatever is left,” said the spirit.

 

Solona frowned. “I’m not sure I can,” she said. “I am not a spirit healer, I don’t have the control for that. I may just as likely kill her.”

 

“There is another form you know that will help you,” said the spirit.

 

Solona’s eyes narrowed. “That can’t work, can it? I’m not in the Fade of dreams.”

 

“It is imperative that it does. I cannot shield you forever.”

 

The spirit rose and vanished into thin air.

 

Solona stood up and glanced at Cullen. “I need you to stay calm, Cullen,” she said as she stepped away from Evelyn.

 

“What are you doing?” Cullen asked.

 

“Changing form. But it’s safe, I’m still me.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Hawke said. “He’s fine.”

 

Cullen glanced at Hawke, his eyes wide with surprise. How could Hawke say that after what Cullen had done? Solona stood still, her eyes closed. Her body glowed with mana. She grit her teeth as the air around her wavered. This time, instead of shadows being pulled around her, There was a bright blue glow. She balled her hands into fists and started to sweat, her eyes glowing. Then she flashed with white light. Cullen shielded his eyes with his shield. When the light faded, what stood in Solona’s place was not human, but a demonic spirit of skin pulled over bones, tattered robes hanging from skinny shoulders and its lips rotted back to a horrific grin. Cullen grit his teeth as the demon walked to Evelyn on the ground. It raised an arm over the unconcious woman, magic pouring off it in waves that Cullen could feel. He braced himself as Evelyn’s form began to glow.

 

“Where in the void did she learn that?” Hawke exclaimed as the spell flared, Evelyn’s back arching, her hands balling into fists. Evelyn’s gasp came sharp and sudden, her eyes opening and glowing with the blue of lyrium. She whimpered as the spell ceased. Hawke ran to her. Cullen was rooted to the spot, his eyes shut in a silent prayer of thanks. Solona stepped away from Evelyn and flared with light as she changed back. “That’s something,” she muttered and sank to her knees, breathing hard.

 

Evelyn blinked back tears as she looked around. “Is he--”

 

“He’s fine,” Hawke said.

 

She asked after him, Cullen stepped back, his head reeling with guilt. After what he did, she still asked after him.

 

Hawk was helping Evelyn sit up. Cullen saw him turn to glare at him. “Cullen!” he snapped.

 

“We need to move on,” Cullen said hoarsely, not looking at her.

 

“Are you serious?” Hawke exclaimed.

 

“It’s fine,” Evelyn said, getting to her feet. She staggered, but stayed standing. “I feel better. It’s fine, no harm done. Are you alright, Sol?”

 

“Ugh, give me a minute,” Solona grinned up at her. “You Templars are so impatient.”

 

Cullen turned to her at last. “I think Nightmare needs to die,” he said, his voice cold.

 

“I think so too,” Evelyn said. “We’ll discuss what happened later. Clear and present danger first, yes? End Nightmare.”

 

“They bond over killing things,” Hawke sighed.

 

“Alibear and I do as well,” Solona grinned at them. “I think you should take Cassandra out on a date and kill something too.”

 

“Maker, that’s my business, Sol,” Hawke groaned. “And please stop calling him Alibear.”

 

Evelyn stood before Cullen. “Listen,” she said softly. “I know what happened. I’ve seen people go nuts in the battlefield before. I. Am. Not. Angry.”

 

Cullen said nothing, his face a mask of pain and shame. She touched his cheek tenderly. She was not angry, but Cullen couldn’t trust himself. He gently took her hand from his face. There was still blood in her hair and a bruise on her face that matched the shape of his pommel. He had never raised his hand against a woman before. He had sisters! He couldn’t imagine ever striking them.

 

“Cullen,” she snapped. He met her eyes, pulled from his thoughts. “Demon. Killing? Focus. I’m not going to die in the Fade. Not from Nightmare, not from you.”

 

He shut his eyes and nodded. He pushed his dark thoughts aside for now. They had work to do. He had to focus.

 

“Our chances of survival just went up,” Solona said as she stood.

 

“Did they?” Cullen asked.

 

“You’ve stopped beating yourself up, and now I can transform.”

 

“Into that form, you mean?”

 

“It gets better,” she smiled as she stood up.

 

 _So the heroes stand again,_ the voice sounded. _A pity. I shall have to try something a little more drastic now._

 

Cullen and the others started on down the path, climbing more stairs that took them past an ocean of dark green water. Cullen had once read that the world was created from the very waters of the Fade. He didn’t want to ponder. Ahead of them was a fog that rolled in from the waters.

 

There was breathing ahead of Cullen then. He raised his blade and shield. Demons poured out of the fog, some of them looked human, blood spiraled around the humans as they cast their spells. Cullen blocked the blasts as the battle erupted. _Did you really think you mattered, Hawke?_ Nightmare purred. _Did you really think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save one city. You’re a failure, and your family died knowing it!_

 

Hawke’s spell fired off harder, one of the demons bursting into pieces. “Fucking thing!” Hawke pushed his hair back with his hand. “Seriously, we need to shut him up.”

 

“It’s attacking us with blood mages and demons,” Cullen breathed hard, swiping the blood off his sword.

 

“That’s what you saw?” Evelyn asked.

 

“What did you see?”

 

“I saw-- big--” She blushed. “Cockroaches.”

 

Cullen stared at her.

 

“It’s a childhood fear, alright?” she snapped.

 

“I wish cockroaches were what I saw,” Solona said. “It’s taking different forms now. It wants our fear.”

 

“That’s odd considering it was pulling up people before.”

 

“Perhaps Cullen frightened it,” Evelyn said quietly.

 

“What?”

 

“You tore through the manifestations it brought up,” she said. “Perhaps it’s girding for another strike. It sends little fears to us now.”

 

 _What a clever little girl,_ Nightmare smirked over their heads. _You were always clever. Wrapping your Knight-Commander around your finger with kisses and rose-water. All to save your blood mage of a brother. Do you really think no one knows what a fraud you are? You’re a liar, Evelyn. And he will know soon enough._

 

Evelyn made a disgusted noise. “I don’t think it’s weakening,” she said. “It sounds too smug.”

 

Cullen was looking at her. She caught his gaze and sighed in resignation. “I’ll tell you everything when we get out. I promise you.”

 

“Just take it slow, you two,” Solona said. “Every couple has secrets, believe me--”

 

_And the wise Warden speaks!_

 

“Maker, come on…” Solona sighed.

 

_He will die, you know. Nothing can save him from his fate. Not even you. One day you will walk him into the Deep to fade away. Ferelden will be left without a king, and you blamed for every--_

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Solona shouted into the sky. “I’ll kill him myself! Fading away is not his style.”

 

Evelyn looked at Cullen. “Your turn.”

 

“You think this is funny?” Cullen asked.

 

“It will say anything, isn’t that what you said?” She turned to him. “You survived Uldred. You fought _for_ mages. You pulled Kirkwall out of the Void itself, fought off Envy at Therinfal, sealed the Breach and lead the Inquisition!”

 

Nightmare’s laughter rolled over them. _Young love is so precious to see, so blind are those who are smitten. What have you touched that hasn’t failed, Cullen? The Templar order corrupted, the Inquisition Forces defeated, and now the one thing you wanted for so long, you battered to an inch of death. Oh, Cullen, I don’t even need to say anything to you. You do my work for me._

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. What could Nightmare say to him that he had not said himself? And with that, what was there to fear from the beast? He took a deep breath. “Let’s move on,” he said.

 

He saw Evelyn’s pleased look under her swollen temple. He swallowed the guilt. How could she still think like that after what he did to her?

 

They walked forward into the fog, their eyes straining to see ahead. There were sounds in the fog. Voices hovered on the edge of understanding, tantalizing in the distance. There was a tiny halo of light in the distance. Cullen’s grip on his sword tightened as they approached it. Two shadowy figures, one pacing with arms crossed, the other’s face buried in its hands. Their voices became louder now, one rising over the murmuring. … _\--to kill an Archdemon, the Warden must die. Alistair, you have to do this. I don’t like it either, but please… make this child with Morrigan, give us more time…_

 

_You can’t ask me to do this!_

 

_I don’t want to, Maker’s breath! But I don’t want to be apart from you. And I can never give you a child, at least this way you’ll--_

 

The fog flashed with flame burning incandescent. The figures vanished in the fire and the fog rolled back, tendrils licking the air where the flames once burned. Solona lowered her arm, her eyes hard and her lips pulled back into a snarl. “That’s it’s new tactic,” she growled. “Our worst memories brought to life.”

 

They all froze. “We are going to learn some horrible things about each other, aren’t we?” Hawke asked.

 

“You really love him, don’t you?” Evelyn said to Solona.

 

Solona’s eyes softened. “I do. You have no idea.”

 

“Some,” Evelyn murmured as they continued on, carefully not looking at Cullen. Cullen’s heart wrenched.

 

They walked on through the whispering in the fog, their footfalls sounding unnaturally loud. A baby’s cry began to rise above the murmuring. Evelyn froze, the cry crystallizing in the air. Two figures stood over a third slumped on the ground, clutching a bundle. One of the figures held a sword. The babe’s cry pierced the air and the heart. _…--gave you an order, Templar._

 

_Ser, the apostate is dead._

 

_Kill the whelp, we have no need of it. …Do it! Or do you want a child yourself? I could give you one, spill my seed in you all night , then you’ll have your own little brat to raise._

 

The figure raised the sword and brought it down. The cry of the babe ended abruptly.

 

_Good. You’ll make a fine candidate for promotion…_

 

The figures faded with lingering laughter in the air.

 

Evelyn stared ahead, shame on her face. Cullen knew the voice of the man speaking in her vision. Markham.

 

“I hope he dies,” Evelyn said softly. “No, I hope he turns red. I hope the red lyrium consumes him from within, from the tips of his fingernails to the depth of his little cock. I hope he writhes…” She was snarling, tears in her eyes. She paused and ran a shaking hand over her face. “This is torture.”

 

“It is,” Cullen murmured. “Remember, mind like a fortress.”

 

She steeled herself and nodded.

 

 _...Mind like a fortress… mind like a fortress…_ his own voice echoed in the fog. Cullen sighed. He knew what was coming. The figure that faded into view was one on its knees. Cullen knew the sight of it. Before it, two others stood over a third on the ground. One raised its hand and the figure on the ground screamed. It chilled the bones, stopped the heart. Cullen froze and turned his eyes away, realizing that the others had too. His own sobs echoed as his kneeling form backed away. _Ainsley..._ he heard his own voice weeping as the kneeling figure clasped his hands in prayer, futile, futile prayer... _Maker… Maker, help him… Ainsley…_

 

Ainsley’s scream ripped through the air as the figure arched painfully to the sound of breaking bones. Then there were screams above the screams, screams from the Harrowing chamber, sounds of guttural roars and gnashing of teeth and the wails therein. Cullen’s imagination had filled his head with horrors in addition to the horror unfolding before him. He walked up to the figures and they faded away, taking the screams with them.

 

He couldn't fly apart again, even though his hands were shaking, his brow wet from the memory that raked through him. If he hurt anyone again in his rage. No, never again… but he couldn’t trust himself. He thought he had it under control. He was wrong. He looked down at his shaking hands. The mark flared gently on his hand, almost comforting.

 

“No--” Hawke rasped. From the fog walked another shadow, jerky, uncertain of it own feet, the faint hint of a veil from it head.

 

 _Hawke…_ a woman’s voice called. _I knew you’d come…_

 

Hawke growled, raising his hand as it blazed with electricity but the air burned with green then, flaring above them all as Cullen held up the mark. The fog seared and started to dissipate, fleeing from the green fire.

 

“We are going to kill nightmare,” Cullen said evenly as the mark blazed on his hand. “Kill it and go home.”

 

“You have my magic, Cullen,” said Hawke vehemently. “I swear, I want that thing dead!”

 

“All of us do,” Evelyn snarled.

 

“Then let’s keep moving. The spirit of the Divine said we should hurry.”

 

With the path stripped of the fog, they continued, their steps sure, filled with purpose.  

 

 _Do you think you can fight me?_ Nightmare intoned overhead _I am your every fear brought to life, I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself. The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me._

 

“Wait, does that mean--” Cullen stopped, his eyes widening.

 

Solona started to laugh, her hands on her hips. “It’s exactly as it seems,” she grinned. “We banish the Nightmare, we banish all the demons. Perfect.”

 

“If we can,” Hawke muttered. “It’s nice of him to tell us that, though.”

 

There was a roar of frustration above their heads.

 

“Eve,” Solona said then, “A word.” Evelyn fell back to speak with Solona in hushed whispers.

 

Cullen glanced over his shoulder and then looked ahead. Whatever the two were planning, he felt like an outsider, especially after what he’d done. No amount of comfort from Evelyn could take that away from him.

 

They climbed higher in the Fade, the swirling clouds of the rift above drawing closer. As they walked on, they came to a ledge high on a cliff that overlooked the vast expanse of dark water.  There was a roar ahead of them. They took cover behind some rocks, their weapons drawn. Another roar came. Two pride demons lingered in the pathway ahead of them.

 

Solona and Evelyn glanced at each other and grinned.

 

Cullen glared at them. “What?” he asked.

 

“We need elevation, yes?” Evelyn said. “Solona can provide.”

 

“How?”

 

Solona chuckled. “Oh, I am so excited. Cullen take point and don’t be too surprised by what I do. Hawke, when Cullen has their attention, bind its hands when I give the signal. Cullen, whatever happens, just roll with it, alright?”

 

Hawke and Cullen exchanged glances. “What are you going to do?”

 

“Something dramatic, as always,” she said.

 

“You’re not telling us because you just want to surprise us, don’t you?” Hawke accused.

 

Her grin widened.

 

“It will be amazing,” Evelyn assured them. “Just do it, Cullen, please? If this works, it’ll be a boon for when we face the big one. Think of this as a trial.”

 

Cullen sighed and nodded. “If anything happens, fall back,” he said. “Better to run now than to die.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Solona grinned. “Just go.”

 

Cullen stood up and with Hawke behind him, he strode forward to the demons in full view. They turned to him and roared their challenge, pounding their chests. He banged his sword on his shield and charged.

 

The nearest one raised a fist. Cullen felt a barrier spring up around him just as he dodged the strike, broken rocks striking the barrier and flashing it green. He rolled out of the way and jumped back as a whip of electricity slashed down beside him. He winced, his leg stinging him. He pulled back, dodging another swipe at his head. What was the plan exactly? “Solona!” he shouted as the second demon charged him.

 

“Hawke now!” Evelyn shouted. Ice sprang up around the first demon’s arms. The demon screamed, his arms laden by the weight of the ice. It slumped down and Cullen gaped as Evelyn came flying through the air, her sword flashing. With a roar, she plunged her sword through the demon’s forehead. The ground began to shake violently. A golem ran past, a massive rock in its hands. “Ice!” Evelyn shouted as the rock knocked the second demon over. The demon roared, stumbling, ice cracking as the spell bound its hands. Cullen felt himself picked up in a hand of stone. “Wait!” he exclaimed, dropping his shield. He didn’t even have time to scream as he was thrown. The wind was loud in his ears, his training taking over. He raised his blade and took aim as the demon tried to raise its hand to swipe him away, it turned its head. He grabbed a horn and held on. There was a gap in its scales at the back of its head. He plunged his blade into the gap, hot blood spattering over him. He grit his teeth as he tried to hang on, the demon writhing in pain as his sword dug into the beast’s brain. Cullen grit his teeth as it fell over. He rolled off and landed awkwardly on his back. His eyes were wild as he got to his feet.

 

The golem lumbered over to him and looked down at him with glowing blue eyes. It held up one massive fist, thumb up.

 

Cullen gaped at Solona. “Maker’s breath! Are you crazy?!” he exclaimed, his voice squeaking slightly.

 

The golem held up another thumb.

 

“Andraste’s tits!” Evelyn was squealing as she ran up with her sword soaked with blood and brains. “YES! THAT WAS AMAZING!” She was breathless with delight.

 

Cullen stared at her incredulously.

 

“Yeah, you should stay that way, Sol!” Hawke laughed as he walked up to them, his staff slung across his shoulders as he rested his wrists on either side. “Fewer wrinkles when you’re made of stone.”

 

The golem raised a massive hand to swipe Hawke away, but the mage danced out of the way, standing behind Cullen. “Don’t hide behind me!” Cullen snapped.

 

Solona began to glow. Her body flashed white and she sank to her knees, once more a woman. She was grinning as Cullen caught her. “Worth it!” she snorted. “But it didn’t last as long as I thought.”

 

“Where did you learn all these forms?” Cullen asked as he held her shoulders, supporting her.

 

“The second time time I was in the Fade,” she said. “I can also turn into a mouse and a burning skeleton.”

 

Cullen stared at her eager smile. “I don’t think we’ll require that…”

 

She stood up and rolled her shoulders. “Let’s get moving,” she said intently.

 

There was a flash in the air. The spirit appeared. “The Nightmare seeks to go through the rift,” said the Divine. “This way! Make haste!”

 

With the spirit floating before them, they charged ahead. Cullen could see the swirling clouds now almost directly above them. They entered a crevice in the rock, running through ankle deep water before  they came to the opening. Cullen had to stop and stare. The Nightmare was a massive demon that rose as tall as Skyhold. Its arachnid eyes turned to regard him, the rift glowing beyond the spider. Smaller fear demons gathered at its feet, turning to rear up as Cullen and the others appeared. “Andraste preserve us…” Cullen breathed.

 

Cullen raised his sword, then a warm glow filled him from within, faith filling his soul like steel. “If you would,” said the Divine as she floated past him, her hand on his shoulder. “Please tell Leliana, I am sorry, I failed you too.”

 

The spirit of the Divine rose above them, sparking and glowing like the sun as she faced the Nightmare. Cullen shielded his eyes from the glow, the Nightmare’s scream filling the universe. Something flashed in the air. Cullen forced himself to open his eyes despite the light. The Nightmare was gone, only the aspects of the nightmare remained, pulling themselves to their feet.

 

“Hawke!” Solona snapped. “I’m going to mix spells - barriers when I say!”

 

“Whatever you’re doing, I can cluster them,” Cullen said over the rising sound of the demon’s screams.

 

“I’ll keep them busy,” Evelyn said. “Just give me the signal to get out of the way.”

 

“Just like Crestwood!” Hawke said.

 

Evelyn charged the aspect of the nightmare, her blade low for the strike. Cullen ran after her. A terror demon tried to spring up under him, he sidestepped and swiped his sword, severing its head. Evelyn was battling the aspect of the nightmare, her blade flashing as she got in closer. She shifted her grip to hold the blade itself in her gauntleted hand and stab into the aspect. She drew out the blade and cut into a terror demon coming behind her before her sword arced overhead to smash down on a spider. The aspect moved to swipe at her head. A shield blocked the blow. Cullen’s sword cutting into the demon’s side. The aspect pulled back from them, screaming in rage. It raised its arms, pulling terror demons from the ground. Cullen and Evelyn fought back to back, his shield and sword defending as her blade cut demons down. In the hot spray of demon’s blood, he could feel her breath. He could feel her excitement as she got caught up in the heat of battle.

 

The aspect of the nightmare pulled up a barrier around itself. Evelyn’s body flashed with lyrium, bursting in the air. the aspect’s body flashed. “Take left,” Cullen said. They charged the aspect as it writhed. Cullen feinted in from the right, his shield blocking blows and parrying strikes with his sword. Evelyn slashed with her blade, the aspect of the nightmare flew up out of reach and towards Hawke and Solona, who was moulding the air with her arms, aglow with magic. “Pull it!” Solona shouted. The aspect of the nightmare burst into a barrier before Hawke and reeled back, screaming. Cullen held up his hand. “Now!” he shouted at the mark. It flared opening a vortex behind the demon. It screeched, sucked back into the mark’s pull. Cullen and Evelyn ran back to Solona just as the spell was released. a blizzard filled the air, the cold biting at Cullen’s flesh and pulling at his furs. He slid to a halt by Hawke as the barrier sprang up  in a bubble around them. Evelyn ducked in beside him, frost in her hair.

 

Then the flames rose, burning in with the cold and ice and the flare of the mark’s vortex. The demon was struggling to pull away. Cullen stood up by Hawke as the man held out his hand, holding the barrier. Cullen let the mark flare again, the vortex glowing brighter. The nightmare’s aspect screamed, raising demons from the ground around them. Some even within the barrier field. Evelyn cut them down.

 

Solon raised her arms one last time, lightning melding with the ice and fire. The roar was terrific around them. The spell was tearing the barrier Evelyn winced as fire brushed past her form the tear in the barrier. Hawke closed his raise hand into a fist, the tear closing. His nose was bleeding from the exertion. Cullen focused on holding the aspect in the middle of the storm, the demon fighting against the mark.

 

It screamed as fire began to catch on its body, the summoned demons swept away in the winds. Fire, ice and lightning. Cullen had never seen a spell mixed like this before. “Die already!” Solona screamed as she held the spell.

 

The mark blazed. “Help her,” Cullen whispered.

 

There was the popping of bones in the distance over the demon’s scream. Cullen’s fingers clawed as he poured his energy into the mark. “Kill it!” he snarled.

 

Then the screaming ceased. Nothing was heard but the sound of the wind, flames and lightning.

 

“Turn it off, for pity’s sake!” Hawke shouted.

 

Solona began to dissipate the spell, first the blizzard stilled, revealing a whirling tornado of fire, sparking with lightning. Then the flames faded out in tatters, leaving only the air sparking with lightning, sparks dancing across the ground and rocks. She soon pulled that spell apart and Hawke dropped the barrier. The two mages slumped. Evelyn and Cullen rushed to catch them. The aspect of the nightmare was dead, crumpled and burned on the ground. The way to the rift was open before them.

 

“Come on,” Cullen said, his mark still sparking, burning on his palm. He slung Solona’s arm over his shoulder as they made their way to the rift.

 

A roar sounded in the distance. Cullen looked up at a looming shape approaching them from over the rocks that surrounded them. The Nightmare had returned.

 

Evelyn pushed HAwke to stand. “Get him out of here!” she snapped as the nightmare charged them.

 

“Get through the rift, Evelyn!” Cullen shouted. Solona pushed herself off him. Evelyn was already charging the nightmare. Cullen felt his heart in his throat with fear. “Evelyn!” He moved to run after her, but Solona held him back.

 

“Hawke, move it!” Solona snapped, pushing Cullen away. “It means nothing if he dies here!”

 

“Go!” Hawke gripped her shoulder. “The Wardens need you, Sol!”

 

“Shut up! Don’t argue! Get him the fuck out!” Solona shouted.

 

Evelyn was under the demon now, her sword flashing as she struck it. He was going to abandon them in the Fade. He was going to abandon them. But Maker help him, Solona was right.

 

Solona shut her eyes and gathered her will. “Give us five seconds after you get out,” she murmured. “If that passes, we’re dead. Close the rift.”

 

“Five seconds.” said Cullen. Solona charged, her body flashing as she changed into a golem once more. Hawke and Cullen ran out, his whole body feeling like filth as he left them behind.

 

The world flashed white as they leapt through the rift. Cullen landed i the courtyard, Cassandra, Varric and Doian turning to stare. Around them were dead demons. Wardens were walking among the dead, stabbing the demons with their swords to make sure. Cullen rolled to his feet. Hawke landed beside him.

 

“Fasta vaas, what’s going on?” Dorian exclaimed.

 

Cullen stood, his glowing mark held out at the rift. “One,” he counted. He could not see beyond the rift, there was only swirling green fire as it reacted to the mark leveled at it.

 

“Two.” Cullen prayed. He had hurt her, dragged her through hell, and now he would abandon her?

 

“Three…” Solona saved their lives! Maker no, not like this! Not like this!

 

“Four…”

 

There was a scream from within. Had they died? A form burst through the rift, smashing into Hawke and sending them both rolling on the ground. Evelyn groaned, her side bleeding with the wound now opened once more.

 

Cullen swallowed the relief that swelled in him. He turned to the rift. Sol…

 

“Five.”

 

He closed his fist and the rift began to turned in on itself. A tiny thing leapt through with a squeak and landed on the ground, rolling to a stop. The rift sparked and burst, Cullen couldn’t see now, because he was crying. The rift slammed shut and Cullen sank to his knees. The demons started to burn away into the Fade.

 

“Fuck...” Solona’s body flashed with light and she groaned.

 

Cullen started to laugh. She could turn into a mouse. He laughed and laughed through the tears as cheers erupted all around them from Warden and Inquisition soldiers alike.

 

“Have you gone mad?” Cassandra asked him. “What were you doing in the rift?” She helped him to his feet.

 

“I am mad,” Cullen laughed and then winced as pain shot through his leg. He had been so intent on the battle, he had forgotten the pain.

 

“How long were were gone?” Hawke asked as Evelyn got off him.

 

“The battle just ended,” Varric said. “Then you jumped through the rift! Not the short cut I would have taken.”

 

“You smell worse than Oghren,” said the Warden Nathaniel as he helped Solona to her feet.

 

“Hey!” Oghren protested nearby. “I smell of roses.” He burped like the chimney of a brewery.

 

Cullen winced as he tried to stand. “We fell into the Fade,” he said.

 

Solona walked up to him, clutching her side. “He got me good, even as a golem,” she said.

 

“You can turn into a mouse,” Cullen smiled.

 

She grinned weakly. “And I had practice chucking Templars.”

 

“Maker’s mercy…”

 

Nightmare is banished and Corypheus loses his demon army and the Warden Mages,” she said. “But you know in the stories, that’s not what people will say. They will say you did all this with the Maker’s blessing.”

 

Cullen thought of the spirit of the Divine. “Perhaps we did,” he breathed. “As long as they’re alive, they can tell whatever story they wish.”

 

She chuckled. “You’re the right sort of crazy bastard we need,” she said softly.

 

“Commander, Inquisitor,” an Inquisition soldier ran up to them. Evelyn did her best not to wince as she stood. Her sword was gone. “The Archdemon flew off after the explosion in the keep. Captain Rylen has found the Venatori agent alive but unconscious. We have him in custody.”

 

Solona snorted. “He’s yours,” she said.

 

“I thought you wanted to wring his neck yourself?” Oghren said.

 

“Oghren, don’t you know?” she smirked. “When you want justice, beware the good man. An evil man will put off the moment of murder like a good cigar. As long as you live, you have a chance. A good man will kill you with hardly a word.”

 

Solona turned to Cullen. “The Wardens and I stand ready, Inquisitor,” she said, saluting. “We will serve to make up for Clarel’s tragic mistake, if you will have us.”

 

Cullen stared at her. All this was caused by the Wardens and their fear, making them easily manipulated by Corypheus. But Solona… he didn’t believe in the Wardens, but he had faith in her. “You will stay and help out however you can,” he said. “Let your deeds be recompense for the actions of your order. And no blood magic. There are still demons that need killing.”

 

Solona nodded, saluting once more. “I will also prepare a warning for Weishaupt. We won’t be caught off guard by Corypheus again. We will join you soon in Skyhold, Inquisitor. Allow me to gather whatever is left of our forces.”

 

Cullen nodded. Hawke stepped up to him. “I will travel with Solona for a time,” Hawke said. “She could use a hand.”

 

“Family should stick together,” Cullen smiled at him.

 

Hawke chuckled. “What happened in the Fade, stays in the Fade,” he said as he pat Cullen shoulder. “It’s been an honour to fight beside you, Cullen. Every time.”

 

++++

 

The Wardens were in the camp at Adamant. The Wardens were assigned Inquisition guards, a gesture of trust Solona had suggested. Cullen had cleaned up as best he could. He’d changed out of his armour at least. He now stood in the War Tent of the Inquisition’s camp with Rylen, Cassandra and Evelyn. They stood around a map as they discussed the holding of Adamant fortress. They would not let the Wardens maintain control over the keep. With all that had happened since stepping out of the Fade, Cullen and Evelyn hadn’t spoken to each other much. Work had swept them up and he was… grateful. Losing himself in work was less painful than… dealing with things. He hadn’t slept. Neither had Evelyn.

 

“If we can leave a garrison here, it would be enough,” Rylen was saying as he pored over the map.

 

“That is unnecessary,” said Cassandra. “The keep is too remote to be of use. Let it be.”

 

Cullen looked up at Evelyn, who was silent as she stared at the map, the circles under her eyes even darker than before.

 

“We can’t let the keep just remain empty, Seeker, someone will occupy it if we don’t,” Rylen pointed out.

 

“Thugs. Let them. There is no one here for them to prey on,” Cassandra waved her hand dismissively.

 

“What do you think, Inquisitor?” Rylen asked.

 

“Hm?” Cullen averted his eyes from Evelyn and looked down at the map. “How stretched are our supply lines out here?”

 

“With what the commander put in place we--”

 

“Excuse me,” Evelyn said suddenly and turned from the table. “I’ll be a moment.”

 

Rylen nodded. Cullen watched her leave the tent, Rylen’s words washing over him. He glanced at Rylen then. “Sorry, Rylen, Seeker, can we postpone this?” he asked.

 

“Why?” Cassandra asked.

 

“It can wait till tomorrow. It’s no point discussing this without the Commander in any case.”

 

Cassandra sighed. “First thing, then.”

 

Cullen nodded. Cassandra and Rylen left the tent. Cullen stepped out a moment later. It was cold in the desert. He tightened the neck of his cloak to keep warm. Evelyn had not returned. He was… worried. She was never this quiet. Were her injuries worse than he thought? He made his way to her tent. There was grunting from within. Cullen frowned and scratched the tent flap. “Evelyn?” he called.

 

“Inquisitor!” Rufus cried.

 

Cullen heard the urgency in the boy’s voice. He pulled the flap aside. Evelyn was on the ground, her back arched in a seizure, her body twitching as her head thumped the ground. Rufus was holding a sheaf of papers in her mouth, trying to hold her down. Cullen gasped and rushed forward, cradling her head in his arms. “Don’t hold her!” he snapped, his voice cracking with concern. “Don’t! Let her shake, hold the paper!” Rufus bit his lip and obeyed as Evelyn kicked in the dirt, her eyes rolled back in her head.

 

“What happened?” Cullen barked.

 

“She came in and started shaking again!” Rufus said. “She just fell down! It’s never this bad!”

 

“Again?!”

 

“It happens when she’s very tired, Inquisitor!”

 

Cullen looked down at her in horror. His eyes widened in realization. The headaches, the sleepless eyes… now this. “When did she last take lyrium?” he croaked.

 

Rufus looked at him guiltily and said nothing.

 

“When?” Cullen shouted.

 

Rufus yelped. “N-not since I met her in Skyhold, Inquisitor?” he burbled. “She doesn’t take any!”

 

Cullen grit his teeth as he looked down at her, her head hitting his arms, the bruise on her forehead where he had struck her in the Fade black and blue against her pale skin. He choked back the guilt, but the tears came anyway. “Get Seeker Cassandra!” he rasped. Rufus ran from the tent.

 

Everything he ever did for her was wrong. Everything he ever did was wrong. Everything he touched went wrong. If she couldn’t endure this, she would die. He cursed his tongue for ever suggesting that she stop. She stilled then, her body limp in his arms. He pulled the paper s from her mouth gently, his face wet with tears. He carried her to her cot and lay her down on it. Everything he ever did was wrong… He smoothed back her hair, her lips were pale, practically white.

 

Cassandra burst into the tent. “By the Maker!” she gasped. “Lyrium sickness?”

 

“You knew?” Cullen growled.

 

“I knew,” she said evenly, pushing him aside to lean over Evelyn. She pulled open one of Evelyn’s eyes and peered at the pupil.

 

“How long?!”

 

“Since shortly after coming to Skyhold,” Cassandra’s voice never raised in the light of his agitation.

 

“You knew - You never told me!” Cullen snarled.

 

“It was her wish that you not know,” Cassandra said. She started to undo Evelyn’s breastplate.

 

“Why?” he demanded.

 

“She did not want to concern you.” Cassandra’s dark eyes caught his. Evelyn’s breastplate clanged to the ground. “She said it was not your struggle. You had enough to worry about.”

 

Cullen backed away from Evelyn. “I told her to do this,” he rasped.

 

“She did say you mentioned it.” Cassandra loosened Evelyn’s collar and turned the girl’s head to the side.

 

Cullen grit his teeth, his hands balling into fists. Evelyn had comforted him in his own weakness and yet he didn’t even know about hers? Was he so blind? So selfish that he could not see her struggle? Everything he ever did was wrong. Every word, every action, every cause he fought for! “Maker’s breath!” he cried in frustration, running his hands through his hair, his fingers tugging in frustration.

 

“It is not your fault.”

 

“Not my fault?” Cullen shouted. No, no point in yelling at Cassandra. He was the problem. Him. Alone. He looked at Evelyn’s unconscious form as she began to shake again, her body rocking the bed as Cassandra cradled her head. He couldn’t bear the sight of Evelyn like this. It was his fault. What had he touched that hasn’t gone wrong? He bit back the tears, his heart breaking. “Take care of her,” he breathed he turned and left the tent, ignoring Cassandra’s calls as he wiped the tears from his eyes. 

 

He was the problem. He looked at the gates of the camp silhouetted in the moonlight, the open expanse of the desert beyond.

 

That problem was easily solved.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sigh...* I'm sorry, Cullen.
> 
> Un-betaed for now.


	26. The Inquisitor's Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor has vanished, trying to leave it all behind for someone worthy.

The sun was rising over the camp, blue and silver and pink streaked across the sky, the mountains and the battered keep of Adamant painted black by shadows. Blackwall stood by the gate, leaning against the post as he looked out over the landscape. Smoke from his pipe spiraled up to the sky as he watched the distance. The camp was beginning to rouse, someone inside was shouting. It sounded like Cassandra. Probably expected, all things considered. 

 

There would be questions, of course. Blackwall was ready for them. He heard footsteps storming across the sandy ground. He turned and saw Cassandra approaching him, her dark eyes glittering with barely suppressed rage. “Warden!” she called to him. 

 

Here it came. He hoped Cullen appreciated this. 

 

“Seeker,” he said, taking the pipe from his mouth. “How can I help you?”

 

“Where is he?” 

 

“Who?”

 

“Don’t play coy with me, Warden!” Cassandra said. “The stablehands said you helped him saddle a horse last night.”

 

“Aye, that I did,” he said, taking a drag of his pipe. “You might want to keep it down. I told the stablehands he had a special mission.”

 

Cassandra seemed to gather herself. “Why?” she growled softly. “Why did you let him go?”

 

“You don’t let the Inquisitor do anything, Seeker,” he replied calmly. “But I helped him leave. He needed it.”

 

“Do you realize what you have done?” she snarled softly. 

 

“I think I stopped him from losing his mind, perhaps,” Blackwall said. “Look, he’s young. Younger than me, at any rate. He’s gone through a lot, seen it all. Every man needs time to himself.”

 

Cassandra seemed to bite back her words. “You should have come to me, Warden. We don’t know what he will do!”

 

“You don’t trust him?” 

 

“Not in his frame of mind. Get me Cole and the others. I’m going to get Warden-Commander and the Champion. We have to bring him back!” 

 

“Leave him alone, Seeker.”

 

She stared at him. “What did he tell you?” she asked. 

 

“That he needed to go.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I think you know why,” Blackwall said. “You watch soldiers, Templars in particular. Did he seem off to you?”

 

“Very. He was not himself. That is why you should not have let him leave.”

 

“I’m sorry we disagree,” Blackwall tapped the pipe on his bracer, knocking the ash out. “You want Cole and the rest, correct? What will you tell them? That the Inquisitor has gone? Gone crazy? Gone for good?”

 

Cassandra stared at him. She looked out over the sands to the rising sun. “Perhaps… just Cole,” she said finally. 

 

“I agree. Let’s keep it in the family. I don’t think everyone would understand. Sera in particular would find it hard.”

 

Cassandra sighed. “He should have just stayed, he should have talked to me! I could have…” She shook her head. “It is too late now. I just fear he may…”

 

“What? Hurt himself?” Blackwall said. “That’s up to him now, isn’t it? How much faith do you have in him, Seeker?”

 

“More than he realizes, but that does not make me stop worrying.” She turned from the gate. “Bring Cole and meet me in the Commander’s tent. I will go get Hawke. That man owes us some answers.”

 

It was later in the day, the sun beginning to snake overhead, shortening the shadows on the ground. The map was unrolled on Evelyn’s desk. Rylen, Cassandra, Blackwall and Cole were silent when Hawke finished his telling. “He’s not going to be pleased that you know,” said Hawke, folding his arms. “I want you to know that I did this under protest.”

 

“We’ve seen soldiers go berserk in the field before,” Rylen said. “But I wouldn’t have expected it of him. He’s always so steady.”

 

“The Fade will mess anyone up,” Hawke said softly. “Whatever you bring with you, it will take and twist and make you break. And Nightmare was very good at that.”

 

“And Maker knows, Cullen brought a lot of things with him,” Blackwall said. 

 

“Stripped, strangled, torn apart. He didn’t want any of it. All my fault, my fault, everything I touch, I ruin,” Cole whispered. “Best leave now, I’m going to fail them anyway, like I failed her. They can find another.”

 

Cole’s words hung in the air. 

 

Cassandra looked down at the map. “Which way did he go, Cole? Can you tell us?”

 

“Yes,” he said. “But he would rather I not.”

 

“He might hurt himself! We have to bring him back!” Cassandra said. 

 

“That won’t help,” Cole said softly. 

 

“Can’t Cole just… find him?” Hawke suggested. “Varric told me about what Cole can do. Just find him and stay invisible and leave him alone - unless he’s about to fall on his sword or something. Which I don’t think he’ll do.”

 

“Just leave the man alone,” Blackwall said. 

 

“Yes, but with Cole with him, he’ll have privacy and also have someone around in case he… does something drastic.”

 

“I would prefer--” Cassandra began and blinked. “Where’s Cole?” she exclaimed. The chair in which the boy had sat in was empty. 

 

Rylen frowned. “I don’t think he can be relied upon,” said Rylen. “Here’s what I recommend,” he spoke then. “Cassandra, Hawke, Blackwall, you three head out to find the Inquisitor. He tends to travel with three companions most of the time anyway. It would not be all that suspicious. I will take the remaining forces and return to Skyhold. We will leave a garrison here at the camp do you at least have a base to return to.” He glanced at Evelyn. “And if the Commander is too injured to move, she should stay as well.”

 

“That sounds like a good plan, Cassandra,” Hawke said. 

 

Blackwall sighed. 

 

“You’re coming with us, Warden,” Cassandra said firmly. “You saw which way he went. In the meantime, Captain, keep this quiet. We don’t want people speculating that the Inquisitor has abandoned us. He has not. I just hope we can track him down in time before anything happens.”

 

On the bed, Evelyn stirred, her bruised face still pale.

 

++++

 

According to his map, wherever he was, it had no name. The desert stretched out before Cullen under the light of the moon. Undulating sand like waves of water, crags and statues dotting the wastes. Before him was a canyon, carved into the rock by water he could hear. Somewhere in there was a waterfall. But it wasn’t on his map. This was perfect. There was nothing here. Just quiet. It was what he wanted. His horse nickered. He pat the beast’s bowed neck. 

 

They had travelled for days. The first morning of his leaving camp, he could see ravens flying overhead. He knew some were messenger birds to Skyhold. They could find another to lead. Someone who wouldn’t mess things up, who was stronger, who was whole. Cullen was none of those things. Perhaps Cassandra could take over. It was her Inquisition, after all. Maybe Solas could find a new way to close rifts without the mark. Their chances of success was higher without him around. He couldn’t even talk to nobles properly, what good was he?

 

Nevertheless, the mark was still useful, even here in the desert. There were rifts. He had fought the demons, hoping one of them would get lucky and do him a favour by getting a good strike in. None did. He didn’t even have the guts to fall on his own sword. That was pathetic. Every time he thought of it, memories of home would come, memories of his time with the Templars, of sitting around the fire with Bull and Dorian and Blackwall and Sera, memories of buying Cassandra those horrible dirty books she secretly loved, memories of… Eve. Stark and clear in his mind were the memories. He would wind up putting his sword away, pleased, yet hating himself. 

 

But fighting brought solace. He didn’t have to think when he fought. The battles had been easy, surprisingly easy. The demons died faster than he expected. The mark had closed rifts. This was better, wasn’t it? Wandering, closing rifts, fighting demons. No one to be hurt by him or his failures. There were fires in the distance, perched on the walls of the canyon. Odd. 

 

He headed down the slope into the belly of the canyon. It would be a good place to just… be. If those fires were not hostile, at any rate. He had left behind most of the trappings of Inquisitor. All he had was his sword, shield and breastplate, which he couldn’t leave behind. He wrapped his cloak over it most of the time. There was water in the canyon. Darkness painted the world with shadows. A tinder and flint lit a small lantern Blackwall had pressed upon him. Thank the Maker for Blackwall. There was a man who understood. Cullen found his way into a cave and set up camp. The ground was rocky and dry and fairly even, a stream of water flowing outside. This was not a good place for long, any flash flood would drown him immediately. But it would do for the night. 

 

He ate the last of his bread rations. It was stale, but he didn’t care. He would need to get more food come the morning. The horse had settled in the back of the cave. Cullen wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down against her. She was a gentle mare, not a war horse. Her presence was comforting. He closed his eyes, wondering if Evelyn had… recovered. Cassandra would take care of her. He swallowed the guilt of having left them. His final failure. At least this way, he could assure that there would be no more failures to come. Without warmth, without comfort, Cullen fell asleep, lost to troubled dreams. 

 

++++

 

“It has been days!” Cassandra snarled as she stared ahead into the night. The campfire burned, a golden halo in the desert night. Cassandra was pacing. “We’ve ridden hard, he can’t have been more than a day ahead of us! Are you sure he came this way?” 

 

“I know he went west,” Blackwall said. “He might have turned off goodness knows where.” He poked the fire with a bit of firewood, stoking the flames. It was cold in the desert at night, it clawed at the skin and made the bones ache. “We can’t be far behind. He’s been sealing rifts. We’ve found the demon corpses. He must be nearby.”

 

Hawke walked back from the packhorses. “We’ve got some beans for dinner,” he said chirpily. “I wonder what he’s eating out there.”

 

“Bread, though I’m sure that’s run out. He’ll head for water. He’s got to survive too,” Blackwall said. “Get the pot, might as well start boiling.”

 

Cassandra looked out over the desert in silence. 

 

“You don’t think he came out here to survive?” Blackwall said.

 

“I have never known him to turn his back on a cause once he’s made a decision.”

 

“Every man has a breaking point, Cass,” Hawke said softly.

 

“Not him.” 

 

“Especially him,” Hawke said firmly, filling a small pot with water. “Trust me, especially him. He fears magic but he wields it. Blood mages and demons did horrible things to him, but his job is to kill demons. He hates nobles, hates their attention. What do you think he’s been doing this whole time for the Inquisition? Everything he fears and hates, that’s what. It’s bound to drive anyone over the edge.”

 

Cassandra said nothing, her dark eyes unreadable. “Did I do the right thing?” she whispered. 

 

“What does your heart tell you?” Hawke asked. 

 

Cassandra glanced at him, a fleeting hint of surprise in her eyes. “It tells me that I would sleep better if he were here with us,” she said softly. 

 

“You’re really worried about him,” Hawke murmured, stirring the beans in the pot. 

 

“He is a true man with a good heart,” Cassandra replied quietly. “He is rare. I do not want to see him lost to despair.”

 

She caught Hawke’s strange look. Blackwall politely retreated into his tent. “Does… he know how you feel?” Hawke asked slowly. 

 

“What do you mean?” she demanded, looking at him over her shoulder. 

 

“Oh, you know, you both get along pretty well, does he know how you feel? If it’s romantic, of course. Not that I’m saying that it is, but if it is then he should--”

 

“Are you mad?” she asked Hawke, folding her arms. “You do know he is in a relationship with the Commander?”

 

“Yes, that was… pretty obvious.”

 

“My feelings are nothing of that sort. I meant that he is a good friend.  He is not unlike you, if you were more serious and steady and reliable.”

 

“Ouch. That hurt for some reason.” Hawke paused. “But I am a friend, yes?”

 

“What is the meaning of all these odd questions?”

 

“There’s nothing odd about them. So… am I a friend?”

 

She frowned in puzzlement. “You are not an enemy, not at this moment.”

 

“But… a friend?”

 

She glared at him. “If it is so important to you, then yes! Must you badger me with ridiculous questions?”

 

“Good,” he grinned. “For a start.”

 

She stared at him. 

 

“Well, seeing as how you wanted me arrested, it’s nice to think you consider me a friend. Almost flattering.”

 

She tucked her hand on her hip. “I’m thinking less flattering things now.”

 

Hawke burst out laughing. Cassandra wasn’t sure he was being serious. What did he mean by ‘for a start?’ Before she could ask, a shadow in the distance caught her eye. She gasped. “Maker’s mercy!” she exclaimed. 

 

“What? It’s not that unflattering--” Hawke began and saw her eyes. He stood up and stared over his shoulder, ladle in his hand. The shadow seemed to stop. It looked like a mounted rider. Except the rider now slipped from the horse and collapsed in the sand. “Blackwall!” Hawke shouted. “Get the healing kit! Hurry!” 

 

+++++

 

Cullen found the canyon surprisingly cool in the day time. He was glad for that, at least. His shield was strapped to his back, his sword at his hip as he followed the stream into the canyon. If he could find those fire-pits he had seen the night before. The stream took him to the centre of the canyon. A waterfall fell from one wall into what seemed like a spring. It was fresh here, the air fresh and pleasant. There were strange tusked creatures near the water. Cullen made a point to kill them later for food, if nothing easier presented itself. 

 

He set up some simple snares around the water with hempen twine. Might as well hunt for something to eat. He found round pebbles by the water’s edge. He waded into the water, his boots keeping his feet dry. He gathered a few and tucked them into his waist pack. He used to be pretty decent with a sling as a boy. He wondered if he could still do it. He stood in the water, the waterfall roaring as he polished off one of the pebbles with his thumb. Perhaps he could weave a sling with some ropes later on, it would be good to hunt with. 

 

A sound made him turn around, his sword drawn with a steely hiss. 

 

A woman stood behind him among the rocks and foliage, axe in her hand, her eyes wary. Her short hair was peppered with gray. “What do you want?” she demanded. 

 

Cullen frowned in puzzlement. She was wearing simple mail, the sort provided by local companies to their workers. Was she a worker? “Rocks, right now, miss,” he said, lowering his sword. 

 

“Are you here to salvage too?”

 

“Salvage?” he asked. He glanced at the wooden platforms that crossed the canyons above. “No, I just got here. I’m looking for food, mainly.” She lowered her axe. Cullen followed suit. “May we… put away our weapons?”

 

She glanced at the axe in her hand. “Oh, of course,” she replied and slipped the axe handle into her belt. Her accent was Orlesian, he noted. 

 

“What was this place?” he asked her as he sheathed his sword.

 

“Once, this was a mine,” she replied. “The Envers Mining Company. I used to work here. Not any more, now. The company left the place.”

 

“Then, why are you here?”

 

“Mostly, I’m trying to get into this one cave. Used to store equipment there. Damn thing wasn’t overrun by spiders then.”

 

“What could be in the cave that’s so important?” 

 

She chuckled ruefully, shaking her head. “I put my wedding ring there,” she admitted. “Couldn’t stand the sight of the thing, but I couldn’t throw it away either. It was a stupid arguement. Part of me knew I’d still want that thing.”

 

A wedding ring? Cullen felt for her. It must have meant a lot to her for her to try and brave spiders to get it. 

 

“Are you married?” she asked him. 

 

“Um… no,” he replied. 

 

“Young lady?”

 

“It’s… sort of, um, complicated,” he looked away. 

 

“It usually is,” she smiled understandingly. “Here’s some advice, if you do get married, don’t take your wedding ring off, no matter how angry you are. You’ll regret it when they’re gone.”

 

Cullen sighed. Regret it when they were gone? Did he regret? Yes. He regretted a lot of things so much he could almost taste the bitterness. “Where is the cave?” he asked. He had to help her now. She seemed like a nice person, and it didn’t do to think so much about regret. Better to think of… Evelyn, the way her hair caught on her lips all the time. Totally failing at asking her to dinner but she just smiled about it afterwards - longing, loving, lingering eyes on her lips with each kiss, stronger when you hold her… He smiled faintly at the memory and looked at the woman. “Perhaps I could… help. Give you a hand to find that ring.”

 

“Would you?” the woman blinked.

 

“It’s not like I have anything else planned for the day, except hunting, maybe.”

 

“But the spiders?”

 

“If you carry an axe, I presume you know how to use it. We should be able to make our way in.”

 

She smiled up at him, her dark eyes filled with gratitude. She reached into her pack and drew out a small package wrapped in waxed paper. “Waybread,” she said. “Have some, if you’re hungry.”

 

Cullen smiled gratefully and took the bread. He might as well… help. 

 

“What’s your name?” he asked her. 

 

“Medina.”

 

“I’m Cullen.”

 

+++++

 

The tent flap flew open.  Hawke and Blackwall looked up as they sat around the dying embers of the fire. They were shaded by a rocky overhang, but the heat would soon come.  “Get back in bed!” Cassandra snapped at Evelyn who strode out to them. 

 

“No, Seeker,” she breathed. “I didn’t come here to lay down. Warden, I require a map.” Her eyes were dark, her face still pale, but the bruise was beginning to disappear into a dark mottling of her skin. 

 

Blackwall wordlessly handed her a map from his waist pack. 

 

Cassandra stood over Evelyn who knelt in the sand to unroll the map. “You are both amazingly stubborn,” Cassandra sighed. 

 

“That’s why I love him, Seeker,” Evelyn breathed as she pored over the map. “He’s an idiot, but he’s my idiot.”

 

Hawke snorted. 

 

“You’re an idiot too, Hawke, you weren’t supposed to tell them all that you did,” she chided. 

 

“It was under protest!” Hawke exclaimed. “You were awake?”

 

“Of course I was!” 

 

“You think you can find him,” Blackwall asked her. 

 

Evelyn sighed as she looked up. “I don’t know. I can only guess what he’ll do. I hope he’s as predictable to his training as I think he is.”

 

She looked up at the Seeker, her finger on an empty spot on the map. “What’s this place?” she asked. 

 

Cassandra looked at the map. “Nothing, according to this,” she said. “But the area was never properly charted.”

 

“He needs water,” Evelyn said. “He will head to a place no one will think to look. Blank spaces, unknown places. It’s why he operated out of Dark Town, it was full of places like that. That’s where apostates hide.” 

 

“You think he’ll go there?”

 

“I think if it’s on the map and it doesn’t have water, he won’t be there,” she said softly. “I’m coming with you. He left because of… me, I think. I have to bring him back.”

 

Cassandra glanced at her. “Are you well enough?” she asked. 

 

“I’m fine, Seeker!” Evelyn said firmly. She stood up, rolling the map.

 

Blackwall sighed. “He just wants time alone, lass, leave him be,” he said to Evelyn. 

 

“He didn’t get any approval for leave,” Evelyn snapped, shielding her eyes as she squinted across the desert. “Even if he wants to be alone, I need to set some things straight with the man. Once I’m done, he can decide.” She sighed heavily. “Let me come with you. I’m well enough to travel, trust me.”

 

Cassandra regarded her with folded arms. “And if I say no?” 

 

“Then I’m riding off on my own,” Evelyn replied. “I’m looking for him, with or without your approval, Seeker.”

 

Cassandra smiled faintly. “Maybe you should talk to him,” she said. “Maker knows he doesn’t listen to me.”

 

“Isn’t love beautiful?” Hawke choked back an imaginary tear. 

 

“Shut up, Hawke,” Cassandra and Evelyn said.

 

It took a while before they broke camp and continue on their way. They had to wait for Blackwall to finish laughing. 

 

+++++

 

There were spiders. A lot of them. They were huge. Most were the size of Solona when she transformed into a spider. Cullen and the woman Medina fought them. His sword flashed in the light of the burning torches on the walls. He stabbed one spider in the head and knocked another onto its back with his shield. Cullen had never seen such deformed spiders. There was something corrupt about them. The last beast screamed with its chitinous mandibles twitching in the air as Medina’s blade buried itself in the spider’s abdomen. Cullen made a disgusted noise as he looked down at his sword. It was covered with spider innards. It would take ages to clean. Medina wrenched her axe free from the spider’s neck. She ran to a corner of the cave and rummaged in the filth there. 

 

She sighed happily when she pulled out a small lock box from the dirt and opened it. “Maker be praised,” she beamed, clutching something tiny to her chest. She looked up at Cullen with liquid eyes. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. Cullen sputtered and blushed, tactfully disentangling her arms from his neck. 

 

“Oh, sorry, I forgot, you have a young lady,” she laughed. 

 

“I think,” he muttered. He sighed. “I’m sorry, don’t mind me. I’m pleased you have your ring.”

 

She looked up at him. “Silly boy, it needn’t be so complicated,” she laughed. “Do you care for her?”

 

He winced. “I… I do, a great deal,” he said. Maker, it hurt to talk about it. 

 

“Then you shouldn’t be out here talking to an old lady about it,” she smiled. “Shouldn’t you be with your young lady instead?”

 

“It isn’t so simple,” Cullen smiled ruefully. Yes, it is, the thought came to his head. Just say sorry. He frowned and looked over his shoulder at the empty cave. He turned back to the woman. “Do... you need help getting back down?” he asked.

 

“No,” she said. “I’ll be heading back soon.” She handed him a key. “That goes to the cache I kept. Have it. As thanks.”

 

“You really needn’t-” 

 

“Oh be quiet,” she laughed. She pressed the key into his hand. “Take it.” She gave him a wave and headed off. Cullen looked down at the key. Just say sorry? Was it that easy?

 

Yes, the thought came. 

 

Cullen looked around the cave. “Cole?” he called. 

 

Silence greeted his words. “I know you’re here!” he snapped. 

 

More silence. 

 

Cullen wasn’t so sure anymore. Perhaps he was imagining things. He shook his head and went to the cache, unlocking it. There were old weapons there. A bow with no string was a good find. He should be able to fix it. Not to mention a little sheaf of papers. They looked like tool schematics. He leafed through it, realizing that these were for mining and weapons. The Inquisition could use thi--

 

He froze in the middle of the thought. He was not with the Inquisition any longer. Why did that thought feel bitter? He sighed heavily and rose to his feet, pocketing the papers. His head hung low in the cool of the cave. Outside, the sun was beginning to set. “What am I doing?” he breathed softly. 

 

He stepped out into the light of the setting sun and made his way back to the cave quickly. He would need to prepare the bow or the sling for the morning. The waybread was surprisingly filling, anyway. He was seeing things in the cave. He wondered if that was normal. He’d been in the desert a while. At least he wouldn’t be left wanting for water here. He checked his snares set earlier in the day. He was lucky. A wandering nug, not so lucky. He killed the beast quickly with a dagger. He strung it up on a stick to drain the blood as he headed back to the cave. It was a mercy he’d actually helped kill chickens back in Honnleath as a child. Who knew such skills would be handy to the Inquisitor - he man who chose kings and leaders, the one who fought for the world… but not any more. It was a bittersweet freedom. At least he wouldn’t fail them any more. It had been, how many times now? Evelyn in the Fade, the scourging of Haven. Even Halamshiral he wasn’t sure about. Did he really do the right thing? Would that return to haunt him later? 

 

He headed down the path back to his cave, the sky stained with purple above. He rounded a bend in the canyon path and froze at the sight of light from his camp. Another horse stood outside with his. Cullen knew the horse, one of the fastest in Harrit’s stables. It belonged to Cassandra. She’d found him. He steeled himself. Nothing she could say could bring him back. He was done with this! He never wanted this position to begin with. He stormed up to the cave. Firelight spilling out from within. “Cass-” he entered and froze.

 

Evelyn looked up at him, her eyes like frost as she sat down by the fire, her hands propped on her knees. He didn’t realize he dropped the dead nug at his feet. She was up, she was alive! She was staring at him, the bruise still on her head. He swallowed and turned from her, leaving the cave. 

 

“Cullen!” she called. 

 

“Stay away from me,” he rasped as he stumbled through the stream. 

 

“Why?” she demanded. 

 

“Evelyn, please, it’s not safe--” The mark started to flare in his emotional state. He gripped his fist to his chest, the water swirling around his ankles. “Don’t you start,” he snarled at it. 

 

“Why?” Evelyn asked again, wading after him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“Then I’m leaving!” he snapped, storming away from her. 

 

“And go where? Into the desert with no food or water? Did you really come out here to die? Is that better than being with me?”

 

“Maker’s breath, Evelyn!” he snapped. “I’ve done enough to you already!” 

 

“Not yet. You haven’t made love to me yet.”

 

That brought him up short. He turned and stared at her incredulously. She folded her arms and shrugged. “Just saying,” she said.

 

“Did you come out here to mock me?” he snarled. The mark crackled with light. He held his hand.

 

“I came here to talk to you, but you’re running away!” she snapped. 

 

“Please, everything I ever did and said… Go back, you’re better off without me. I should never have…”

 

A hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. “Never have what?” she snarled. “Finish that sentence to my face, Cullen. Tell me you regret everything.”

 

He stared at her, the words stilling in his throat. 

 

“You don’t know the state you were in with the lyrium,” he breathed. 

 

“Cassandra knew. She told me. She’s got me out of it once before. This is the second time I’ve lost it.” She looked up at him. “You think I stopped taking lyrium because you told me to? Get over yourself, Cullen!” 

 

He stared at her. “Yes, I didn’t consider it before you spoke of it. The more I thought about it, the more I decided that it was what I wanted for myself! I even took up being Commander because I wanted to leave the Templars anyway,” Evelyn went on. “Ed… my brother. I became a Templar to be close to him when he was taken to the Circle. I cared about him, I was afraid for him. I thought I could… protect him. But he dabbled in blood magic. I found out about it. He was sustaining an apprentice he loved. She was with child. It would get out sooner or later, I had to do something. Only Knight-Captain’s vote on Tranquility, you know that. I… I used Markham to rise.” 

 

She sneered at herself, averting her eyes. She hugged her arms, her frame smaller as the winds in the canyon tugged at her short hair. “And he used me right back. Not that it matters. I was promoted, kept Eduard off the list, but she… passed on during childbirth. Eduard was devastated.” She looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears. “The Templars are corrupt even without Corypheus. I used that corruption to rise. I am corrupt. I am everything wrong with the system, Markham and I. That’s why Laurent… She ended it because I… But I wanted to change. A new start. That’s what the Inquisition was for me. A chance to prove to myself that I was worthy of all this. And if I was going to leave the Templars, I would cut all ties with it on my own. I just… I hadn’t expected to find everything Markham was not in you, everything Laurent tried to be, in you.” Her jaw tensed as she turned away, rubbing one arm. “So you should... leave me. I’m a terrible person. Leave me because of that, but not for reasons that aren’t your fault, you know?” Her voice cracked. She bit her lip. “I don’t want you to carry a burden that isn’t yours. The Inquisition needs you, Inquisitor. Please… Lead them. Don't let them down. Let me leave instead. Rylen can… he’s the real deal. I’m not.”

 

She reached out to him. Cullen felt the weight of her words. He wasn’t expecting… Carry a weight that wasn’t his? He had hurt her. But she deserved to be hurt for what she did. It was because of people like Meredith, Markham, Evelyn… People like her ruined the Templars. And yet he cared about her, cared so much it hurt to hear all this. He felt her hand on his sleeve and he swatted it away. 

 

“Leave me,” he grated, angry at… everything. At her, at himself, at this whole situation. The one thing he had wanted, the one thing he thought he loved, had turned out to be the very thing he tried to leave behind. Yet… He turned away from her. “Maker’s breath. Just… go away.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pulling her hand away, her heart in her eyes. “I’ll… be gone when you get back. I know you’ll do the right thing…”

 

She turned and splashed back to her horse. She mounted up, her eyes hard, her jaw set, but leaving tears hanging in the air as she galloped away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Evelyn need counselling...


	27. The Guardian Spirit

Cullen stared ahead into the gathering darkness, water swirling about his ankles. Evelyn’s horse had long since faded into the distance and he was left with his uncomfortable thoughts. She was… everything wrong with the Order. She was right about that part. She kept her brother, a blood mage, off the Tranquil lists. She rose through favours. Maker, she was the sort of Templar he despised. He grit his teeth. 

 

But she wanted to change. She had left the Order to change, she stopped lyrium to be free. Hadn’t he done the same? Andraste help him, had he not done exactly the same? What sort of fool was he? Was he angry with her just because he found out something he didn’t like about her? And all the time, before he knew, he had… taken so much pleasure in her company. He had longed for her, enjoyed the strange twists her mind took. He saw the mettle in her, she forgave him when he didn’t deserve it and could pull him back from the brink. She’d done it at Skyhold, she was doing it again here at Adamant.

 

He liked her… more than liked. He…  _ really _ liked her. He was afraid she had not felt the same. But he had told her to go away.

 

Fuck.

 

He turned and ran from the stream to his horse. He saddled her as fast as he could and mounted, gathering the reins as the mark still sparked. He galloped after her. 

 

Do the right thing, she had said. Do the right thing. He knew the right thing to do, he just feared to do it. Go back to the Inquisition. What if he failed them again, what if he came undone? 

 

There he was worrying about what-ifs. Evelyn would give up her second chance if it meant he could go back, because there were more important things in the world than him feeling bad. He was full of himself, she was right about that. 

 

This wasn’t about the Inquisition or him failing it. The Inquisition was bigger than him and would carry on despite his failure, as the Chantry or the Templars did.. What did he want?

 

To kill Corypheus, to heal the sky, to somehow bring sanity to a world gone mad - madder than usual, at any rate. 

 

He wasn’t going to do it from here in the Oasis.

 

He rounded the bend, a figure on a horse in the middle of the path. “Eve!” he called. 

 

Evelyn turned, warning in her eyes. He saw the other figures in the shadows too late. Pointed cowls on their heads, crossbows glinting in the fading light. Some were on horseback, silhouetted forms holding arrows drawn. Cullen swore inwardly. At exactly the wrong time, the mark sparked. Cullen clenched his fist, too late. 

 

“Blood of the Elder One!” one of the figures breathed. Venatori. They were those strange fires on the clifftops the night before. Cullen cursed his carelessness. “It’s the Inquisitor.” The figures inched towards him, bows drawn. 

 

Evelyn pointedly rolled her eyes as bows were leveled at him. “Get the others,” Evelyn said to the air. A mounted man rode to her to strike her across the mouth. She caught his wrist in her hand and twisted his arm behind his back. An arrow grazed her cheek until her hand came to the Tevinter’s neck, a dagger appearing in her fist like a fang. She twisted back in pain as a lightning spell speared through her body. She was pulled from her horse by the hair. She kicked one of the Venatori between the legs and headbutted the one holding her hair. It took four men to pin her down. 

 

Cullen reached for his sword, dodging an arrow that whizzed past his head. He drew the blade half way before he was pulled from his horse. Cullen rolled up, a hand caught his elbow as he tried to draw his blade again. Then he froze, feeling a trickle of blood drip down the back of his head as an arrow tip pressed into his scalp from behind. From his horse, the Tevinter let his lightning spell flare again. Evelyn writhed on the ground, gritting her teeth, refusing to scream. 

 

“Now, now, Inquisitor. Let’s all be nice. The Elder One will reward us more if you’re alive. Try to get her to behave, as a favour.” said the man on horseback. He released the spell. The guards pinned her down as she tried to rise. 

 

“Eve, stop resisting! That’s an order!” he barked. She stilled. One of the guards kicked her in the gut, she curled in the sand, spitting curses as her hands were bound. 

 

Cullen’s sword was stripped from his belt, his shield and dagger taken away. He was pushed to his knees, his arms twisted behind his back, pain spearing through his shoulders. 

 

“Such a spirited lass,” said the Tevinter. He dismounted before Cullen. “I’m sure my men will get their just deserts.” He smirked in the blaze of Cullen’s glare. “Know your captor, Inquisitor. I am Overseer Jullex, servant of Calpernia.”

 

Cullen said nothing, a trickle of blood from the arrowhead running down his his scalp to his neck. Jullex took him in, his eyes as black and cold as a desert night. He stood behind Cullen, taking and lifting Cullen’s marked hand. Cullen’s glove was pulled off almost gingerly. Cullen shuddered. Like Kinloch, the demons had-- he pushed the thought from his mind. No, not again… He couldn’t lose his head here, Evelyn was about. His fingers were pried open and his palm held open. A gloved hand caressed the mark, making Cullen’s skin crawl. “Make it shine for me,” the Venatori purred. 

 

“Go fuck yourself,” Cullen growled.

 

The man sighed. The spell shot through him, electricity lancing through his body, his back arching sharply. “Cullen!” Evelyn’s voice rang out. 

 

Cullen grunted as the spell faded, painfully held up by the hand twisted behind his back.The Venatori squatted down beside Cullen, panting in the sand, his brow beaded with sweat. “You know that lady was this close to convincing us she was a lone Inquisition spy,” said the Venatori. “We were this close to leaving with her. Good thing we waited. You are not what we expected, stories say your face is like the back end of a dog.” The man chuckled as Cullen’s jaw tensed. “Welcome to the Venatori, my beautiful Inquisitor.” 

 

++++

 

Cassandra, Blackwall and Hawke waited at the camp at the edge of the Oasis. They could see the canyon stretching out before them, a black gouge in the landscape. Cassandra was on watch, her back to the fire to preserve her night vision. The path down into the Canyon had remained empty. Evelyn had ridden down hours ago. Cassandra was growing impatient. She sighed again. 

 

She heard footsteps coming up behind her and a wineskin was held out to her. She looked up at the Champion. He looked different with his gorget and wolf fur on, wearing only his breeches and tunic. Clearly, he had been in bed. She took the wineskin. “It’s not time for your watch yet,” she pointed out. 

 

Hawke chuckled and sat down next to her. “I thought I’d keep you company.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I may like those accusing, suspicious glares and sharp remarks,” he said, sitting down next to her, propping his arms on his knees. 

 

She chuckled as she unstoppered the wineskin. “I can be harsh, I know,” she said and took a sip. 

 

“Yes, that’s just part of your charm,” he said. 

 

Cassandra glanced at him. Was he really… flirting? Of all the inappropriate times. She sighed as she looked out over the desert. “You are flattering me,” she said. “Quite blatantly, I might add.”

 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d notice,” he grinned. “Nice to see that you did.”

 

“Do you really think this is the time to be joking?” Cassandra asked. 

 

Hawke sighed as he leaned back on his palms. “This may be harder than I thought,” he muttered. 

 

Cassandra had an inkling of what he meant, and refused to acknowledge it. Perhaps the Champion was playing the fool as always, joking around. He hardly took anything seriously. “Where are they?” she fretted instead. 

 

“Maybe they’re making up,” Hawke said. He caught her glance, eyebrow raised, eyes hard. “You know? Kissing? Making up? I hope, they are, at any rate. Because if not, they’re gone an awfully long time. It’s been ages.”

 

“We will give them another hour,” said Cassandra. She took another sip of the wine. “Why did you come back?”

 

Hawke glanced at her. “Pardon?”

 

“You did not have to return to us. You were good and lost to us, after all,” she said. “I merely wondered why you returned. You must have known that you were still wanted.”

 

“As Inquisitor, apparently,” Hawke said. 

 

“You did not know that before you came.”

 

“That is also true. I came back because I found out that the darkspawn I thought I killed had created a huge hole in the sky and you were working to close it.” Hawke looked at her. “I told you this already.”

 

“Did you not fear we would arrest you for what happened in Kirkwall?”

 

Hawke sighed. “A little, I’ll admit. But I was hoping you’d cooled down a bit. Imagine my surprise when I found out why you were looking for me to begin with,” Hawke looked at her and sat up straight. “Cassandra, I could have been your boss!” 

 

“I shall thank the Maker for his ineffable wisdom then,” she drawled.

 

Hawke laughed at that. She didn’t even know she had said something funny. “But you’re not what I expected,” Hawke admitted. She raised her eyebrow in question. “You’re actually rather intriguing. I would like to find out what’s under that intimidating, intense exterior of yours.” 

 

“Whatever is under my exterior is none of your--” Cassandra began. She gasped in surprise, spilling the wine as Cole appeared between them. Hawke swore and sprang to his feet. 

 

“They need help,” Cole said. 

 

Cassandra stood. “You know where they are?” she exclaimed, wineskin forgotten in the sand. 

 

“Some Venatori came and took them away. There were many. The Commander told me to find you.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. Hawke was already heading back to his tent to get his armour on, calling for Blackwall to wake up. Cassandra glanced at the boy. “Is he…”

 

“Broken, bitter, black inside. Falling on my sword is easier. Maybe I won’t have to. Where are the demons?” Cole breathed. “But he remembers brightness. Remembers a lot more than he realizes.”

 

Cassandra shook her head. Cullen had come to the desert to die, after all… “You helped him?” she asked Cole softly. 

 

“Yes,” Cole said, his fingers toying with the grains of sand. “He is better. Wants to help. Felt lost and broken but now it’s clearer. Bigger than one man, the Inquisition will survive him. Stronger when he sees her, softer when he holds her. Feels like quiet again.”

 

Cassandra barely understood any of it. But… the boy had helped. “Then we can’t have him dead at the hands of Venatori, now that he’s woken up his ideas,” she said. “Once Hawke and Blackwall are ready, lead us to him, Cole.”

 

+++++

 

They were tied together, their arms interlocked behind their backs. Near the edge of the camp, by a cliff, Cullen and Evelyn sat under guard. Two Venatori stood guard over them, talking as they leaned against a nearby rock. Cullen and Evelyn had no escape, save jumping to their deaths. The Venatori camp was perched on a ledge on the cliff. Tents were pitched, fires were lit. The Venatori soldiers had opened a cask of wine and were celebrating his capture. There Red Templars there, three of them. Two stood outside of Jullex’s tent while the third, Cullen assumed was the captain, was within. He glanced over his shoulder as Evelyn stirred. “You alright?” he muttered, keeping his voice low. The sound of the waterfall covered their voices. 

 

“There’s a rock under my bum,” she complained. Cullen’s hands curled up as she moved, her bottom squirming. 

 

“Keep still!” snapped the guard. 

 

Evelyn shot him a dirty look and stilled herself. She sighed softly. “This is a stupid situation,” she muttered. 

 

“Yes,” he said softly. “It’s my fault.”

 

“Sort of,” she agreed. “But not all of it. I’m just happy you’re alive to even blame yourself.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Cole said you came to die.”

 

He was silent as he stared down at his crossed legs. Heat rose to his cheeks as he sighed heavily. Cole had been with him all along, after all. And Cole had spoken to her. Of course. The boy knew. Cole had been reminding him of all those memories, the memories that pulled him back from the brink. Cole had saved his life. Again. “I did,” he replied. “I… don’t know what I was thinking… I’m sorry…”

 

Her hand slipped in his behind their backs. “Forgiven,” she said softly. “Just don’t do it again, alright? I’ll be so angry with you if you try this once more. You’re not alone. You have everyone rooting for you. Cassandra will probably be glad to see you so she can hit you. She was practically beside herself.”

 

“She’s--”

 

“Here. With Blackwall and Hawke.”

 

“Then she knows…”

 

“They made Hawke tell them. I think they needed to hear it to understand why you did it. But they kept your disappearance quiet. As far as the rest of the Inquisition know, you’re off on a mission.”

 

Cullen hung his head. “Maker, I nearly abandoned them.”

 

She was silent for a moment. “So you’re coming back?”

 

He squeezed her hand in his, the ropes twisting as he moved. “I… Yes, I am. I should never have left.”

 

She sighed heavily behind him. “Then give me time to pack at leas--”

 

“Commander, we can’t both be idiots here,” he said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

 

“But… everything I--”

 

“Does not matter,” he said, her hand still in his. “This is your chance to start a new. Don’t blow it like I nearly did.” He hoped he hadn’t ruined it. Sincerely hoped. 

 

He heard her starting to giggle. “We’re really not going anywhere,” she said. “I can’t believe we needed to be tied together to see sense.”

 

He snorted. That was one way to look at it. “We’re equally silly, aren’t we?” he asked. 

 

“I can say that we’re very compatible,” she said. There was shouting coming from the tent now. Jullex and the Red Templar guard were arguing. The names Calpernia and Samson shouted out were distinct. 

 

“Looks like your boyfriend won’t let the Red Templars take you to Samson,” Evelyn said. 

 

“We need to get out of here,” Cullen said. There was tension between Calpernia and Samson apparently. Corypheus’s forces were not as united as they’d thought. This information was useful. “At this rate, they may move sooner than anticipated, maybe we can get to Cass and the others.”

 

“They’re on their way,” she said, letting go of his hands. “Cole should have reached them.”

 

“But we cannot wait.”

 

“How strict are you with your policy of unwavering honesty?” she asked him then. 

 

He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

 

“I can get us free.”

 

“How?” 

 

“Just act natural, alright? And look for a way off the cliff.”

 

He started to feel her quivering, tugging at the ropes. “What are you doing?” he muttered as the guard came over to them, seeing her trying to pull away. 

 

“Stop moving, you bitch,” snapped the guard. Cullen felt his hands balling into fists.

 

“You have to let me go,” Evelyn breathed, her voice ragged with emotion. “I can’t die here. Not with Samson.”

 

The guard chuckled. “ _ If _ you go to Samson.”

 

“Please let me go,” she begged. “I can’t go to Samson, I’ll do anything.”

 

The penny dropped in Cullen’s head as he realized the ploy she was playing. “No!” he snapped. “Evelyn, don’t!” 

 

“Shut up, I didn’t join the Inquisition to die at Samson’s hand,” she snapped.

 

“Damn it, Eve!” he snarled. 

 

“I can’t die here,” she choked, pulling away from him. She looked up at the guard, her shoulders arched, her eyes desperate. “I can’t go to Samson, let me go, I’ll do anything!” 

 

The guard glanced at his fellow. Cullen looked over his shoulder and saw the smirk. “Don’t do it!” Cullen snapped. 

 

“Want to share?” the guard asked, smirking at his friend. 

 

“Don’t you even--” Cullen growled, moving to rise and froze when a blade was levelled at his neck. 

 

Her bonds were cut from from around his. The guard pulled her away by the arm. She followed him meekly, frightened breaths falling from her parted lips. The guard was already feeling her up as he dragged her away, his hand slipping down the neck of her tunic before they vanished behind the rock. Cullen started to rise to his feet but the second guard kicked him back down into the dirt, a foot pressing down on his chest as the sword was leveled at his eye. “Don’t worry,” chuckled the guard. “If you want some fun, Overseer Jullex can accommodate. He likes blondes. Bet he’d like to see your hand sparking for him.”

 

Cullen’s cheeks burned with rage, holding on his calm by a thread. There were noises from behind the rock, choking, gagging noises, whimpers, gasps. Cullen’s mind provided the repulsive images to go with the sounds. He lay on his bound hands, gritting his teeth. The guard watching him didn’t even look away at the sounds coming from the behind the rock. He seemed to enjoy watching Cullen’s futile rage. 

 

Another Venatori approached from behind. “Bring him over,” said the man. “Where’s the bitch?”

 

“Briatus started,” said the guard, who pulled Cullen to his feet. Cullen stared at the rock Evelyn was dragged behind. It was dark, he couldn’t make out anyone in the shadows. There were no sounds now as he was dragged past by the new guard, the sword still at his neck. “Bastard, Briatus,” said the new guard, pushing Cullen forward past the rock. “We were supposed to wait till all of us were off duty.” Cullen was seething, his temple pounding, his skin hot with his suppressed fury. The two guards stopped then. “Fuck!” they exclaimed. 

 

Cullen glanced over his shoulder and saw the mark flashing, illuminating their faces with its green light. The sword point pressed against his rib. “None of that sparking now, Inquisitor,” said the guard, his nervous face awash with green light. “None of that. We don’t want any accidents, do we?”

 

They feared the mark. He balled his hand. “Stop it,” he whispered. The mark stilled. He hadn’t even felt it awakening, his mind so fixated on Evelyn. 

 

“Better.” The guard pushed him forward once more. They crossed the campsite, the two Red Templars eyeing him. Cullen stared at them. Their faces were twisted with red lyrium. The stuff grew from their very bodies. They were barely human, how much of them was left? Each of them became a Templar, each had their reasons to serve the Chantry, whatever they were. Each young at one time. Maker, was there anything left in them at all? They did not move as he was led past them into Jullex’s tent, the Venatori guards holding each of his arms. 

 

A brazier provided light to the interior, but it was unnecessary. A huge Red Templar stood in the middle of the room beside Jullex, the red lyrium from his back and shoulders filling the tent with dull red light. Cullen stared at the face, somewhat twisted by the lyrium that sprouted from one cheek. Recognition teased him at the back of his mind as he squinted at the Red Templar. 

 

“Can’t recognize me, Cullen?” asked the Red Templar. Cullen stared. There was a whine to that voice that was so familiar. 

 

“Kirkwall? Kinloch?” Cullen asked. 

 

The Red Templar laughed. “No surprise. I’m far stronger than I was before - stronger, meaner, nastier--”

 

“Nastier, for certain,” Cullen blinked and his eyes widened. “Carrol?”

 

“So his eyes are better than you thought,” Jullex sneered, crossing his arms. 

 

“And I know it’s not his eyes you’re interested in, Jullex,” Carrol shot back. 

 

“Indeed. I am interested in his hand,” Jullex said. “Among other things…” He held out his hand to Cullen, who felt his blood catch fire as the spell caught hold. Blood magic! The man was a blood mage! Burning searing, pain like his body breaking his own bones. But it was not real, just pure agony at their command, wear him down for the demons to-- 

 

_ You are not there. I’m here to help. _

 

Cullen’s eyes widened, that voice filling his mind with light, with hope.  _ Not yet… _ He bit back the scream as the fire shot through him, searing him from within. The mark flared despite himself. He heard Jullex gasp. The spell was released, Cullen slumping in the arms of the guards, the mark sparking, flaring, warmth coursing through his arm as it fully awoke. 

 

“Untie him,” Jullex commanded. “Bind his hands in front.”

 

Cullen’s arms felt limp as his binds were cut, his hands tied once more at the wrists before him. The guards eyed him warily, keeping their hands clear of the mark.

 

“Don’t bother,” Carrol sneered. He walked up to Cullen and lifted Cullen’s wrists in one massive, clawed hand. At Carrol’s touch, Cullen heard the red song filling him, metallic, dark, ancient. “We’re just going to cut it off,” said Carrol, watching Cullen’s face for a reaction. Cullen gave him none, glaring at him even as he panted from the effects of the spell, every muscle in his body twitching. “Cut it off,” Carrol tried again, dragging the words out. “Then we cut off your head and send that to the Elder One!” 

 

“I always knew you were slow, Carrol,” Cullen grated as Carrol held up his hand. “I didn’t think you were actually stupid until today.”

 

Cullen folded over Carrol’s fist as it punched him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Cullen straightened up. “When did you give up asking for biscuits as ferry fare to serving a mad talking darkspawn?”

 

Another strike sent him to his knees. Cullen grunted, his abdomen a symphony of pain from the blows, his twinging muscles adding interesting trills and harmonies. 

 

“You’re taking no part of him, Carrol,” said Jullex. “And mind the face, don’t damage it.”

 

Maker, what I wouldn’t give for a sword. Right through Jullex’s eye, Cullen prayed. 

 

“And the Inquisitor goes to Calpernia whole,” Jullex added, standing between Cullen and Carrol. “Or at least… relatively undamaged.”

 

There was screaming out in the camp, alarmed shouts from the other end of it. A roar boomed from beyond the tent flap, the two red templars footsteps shaking the ground as they thumped away from their post. Jullex glanced at the tent flap. “Get out there, see if--”

 

Cullen looked up at his guards.  _ Now _ . 

 

The two guards beside Cullen erupted in sprays of blood. Cole moving like shadows and death. 

 

Jullex reached for his staff as the tent flap opened. Cassandra came in like a whirlwind, her roar erupting from her throat like rolling thunder. Carrol’s sword smashed against her shield. Evelyn ran in behind her as Cullen sprang to his feet. She tossed him a sword. He caught it by the handle with both his bound hands and turned, his blade swinging true for Jullex’s throat. The sword quivered as it hung in the air, Jullex’s eyes fixed on it, staring as he held the barrier up. Cullen felt the man building mana, the veil tugged so strongly as Jullex shaped his spell that Cullen felt his stomach lurch. He knew that spell, Jullex’s eyes turned streaked with glowing purple veins. “Get away!” Cullen shouted. Cassandra crashed into him, sending him rolling across the ground, tangled with her. They scrambled to their feet as Carrol charged at Evelyn, striking her into the side of the tent, fleeing through the tent flap and into the battle outside. 

 

“Cole!” Cullen shouted, the boy appearing behind the glowing Jullex. Cullen ran forward, even as he saw Cole’s dagger sink into Jullex’s kidneys. He saw the blood, saw the evil hooked dagger drawn out, pulling flesh with it. Cullen’s heart beat in his ears, every beat an eternity as Jullex’s eyes began to glow from within. Cullen  leapt. 

 

His body barrel into Cole’s, arms wrapping around Cole’s waist, pulling the seemingly-weightless boy into the air with him as he curled for the explosion that came. The world turned white with light. Cullen felt hot blood on his back, burning like acid, shrapnel of bones in his arms. He landed heavily on Cole, his ears ringing, his head spinning, he couldn’t see for the lights flashing in his eyes. He groaned and lifted himself up to his hands and knees over the boy, the ringing fading to the sound of swearing peppering the air. “Argh,” he said, the world swimming into view. He looked down at Cole, the boy’s eyes wide under his mop of messy blonde hair. Cullen smiled at him. “You alright?” 

 

Cole said nothing, just staring at him in shock. Cullen cleared his throat. “Fucking bastard cock maggot piece of shit Tevinter!” Evelyn’s tirade intruded on his thoughts. Cullen looked up. Cassandra was scraping guts off her shield. Evelyn was pulling off her smoking tunic quickly. She winced as she looked at her arm, a burn on her skin. There was blood on her chin, but she seemed fine judging from the way she was swearing. Cullen got to his feet, the pain in his muscles and from his back was… bearable. It hurt, but he wasn’t going to die from it. He winced slightly and reached down to help Cole, holding his hand out to the boy. Cole’s eyes widened. “You see me.”

 

Cullen blinked. “I do,” he replied, his hand still extended. “Should I not?”

 

Cole stood up without taking Cullen’s hand, his face surprised. Cole had been there for him in his darkest; gently whispering, pulling him from the brink every time. Cullen’s eyes softened. Cole was a spirit, Vivienne called him a demon. Yet, never once was he threatened, never-- “--Once was I abandoned, not by Cole, not by anyone. How could I have wanted to leave all this behind?” Cole said, his blue eyes on Cullen’s. “I’m sorry.” 

 

Cullen smiled, shaking his head as the boy spoke his thoughts. He wrapped his arms once more around Cole, embracing him like a brother. Thank the Maker for Cole, Cullen thought. Cole gasped and stood uncertainly. “What... is this?” Cole asked. 

 

“It’s called a hug, Cole, and it’s a good thing,” Cullen replied, “Get used to them.” 

 

A sniffle came from the other side of the blasted tent. Evelyn started to cry as she watched Cullen let go of Cole. Cassandra stood misty-eyed beside her, silently passing Evelyn a handkerchief. 

 

+++++

 

“Argh,” Cullen winced.

 

“Sorry,” Hawke said as he stood behind Cullen who was bare bodied and seated by the fire of their camp. Hawke let his hands flare again with the healing spell on the burns from Jullex’s timely death. Cullen had never met a mage more rubbish at healing spells. It was fine until Hawke got distracted. 

 

He felt the warmth of the spell as his wounds began to close. He glanced at Evelyn, seated by the fire, her wounds bandaged. She reading whatever papers they could recover from the camp, some pages stained with unknowable substances that was once Jullex. She passed him a sheet. “They’re digging in the desert,” she said. “That’s what your boyfriend was doing here. Scouting, apparently.”

 

“Stop calling him that,” Cullen snapped, looking down at the paper. He read it a moment. “Ruins?”

 

“Corypheus gets around, doesn’t he?” Evelyn said. 

 

“It’s a pity Carrol escaped,” Cullen sighed. 

 

“We’ll get him.”

 

“I’d like to get some payback for this,” Blackwall grumbled from the other side of the fire. His bard was mussed, a fireball nearly catching him in the face. He was smoothing it out, looking at his reflection in his sword blade stuck in the sand. 

 

“At least you can grow one,” Cullen said, turning his eyes back to the paper. 

 

“Can’t you?” Blackwall asked. 

 

“I tried when I was younger,” Cullen replied. “I looked like I had a hedgehog stuck to my face- Argh!” 

 

“Sorry!” Hawke laughed as Cullen pulled away from the botched healing spell. “Stop making me laugh, damn you, I’m trying to focus!” 

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen winced and sat back down. “Even Solas can turn a healing spell better than you.” He glanced at Evelyn. “Why aren’t you getting healed?”

 

“By Hawke? I’d sooner take a knife to the eye,” she drawled, picking up another sheet to read. 

 

“Thanks,” Hawke chuckled. “By the way, just now after the battle, I couldn’t help but notice you had blood down your chin, Commander.”

 

“Hm? Oh. I lured an idiot to untie me by offering sex. I bit it off when he stuck it in my mouth.” 

 

All three men turned to stare at her in horrified silence. 

 

She smirked. “His tongue, not the other thing,” she said. 

 

“I didn’t hear him screaming,” Cullen said.  

 

“I was throttling him.” She smiled warmly at him. That explained the choking noises. Cullen was pleased that his horrific imagination was far off the mark.

 

Silence bloomed further from Blackwall and Hawke. 

 

“What?” Evelyn blinked. “Unfortunately. I should have worked a little faster. They dragged you away before I could stab the other guy.”

 

“Yes, very remiss of you, Commander. I hope that goes into the training areas of improvement. Sexy woman sex ploy expedience.” Cullen chuckled as he shook his head. “Also, don’t ever do that again.”

 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Evelyn sighed. She paused and looked at him archly over the papers. “You think I’m sexy?”

 

“W-what?” Cullen blinked. He felt the heat in his cheeks. “We’re not really discussing this, are we? Here?”

 

“True, we’ll discuss it later, in private,” she said primly. 

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen blushed over Blackwall’s chuckle. 

 

She grinned and stood up. “I’ll continue this tomorrow, I’m exhausted.” She ambled over to Cullen, papers behind her back. She bent to kiss one burning cheek. “Goodnight, Cullen.”

 

Cullen looked up at her face, lit by firelight and framed by the starry swathe of the night sky. He had almost left this all behind, if not for Cole, wherever he was. The boy had taken to sitting by himself; Cullen couldn’t find him, and he’d tried. “Goodnight,” he murmured. “Evie.”

 

She smiled, glancing to the side and tittered lightly, heading to the tent she shared with Cassandra. “Your mark is sparking again,” Hawke pointed out. Cullen sat on his hand as he watched Evelyn. “You know, they have pills for premature sparking, one in five men--”

 

“I will run my sword through you, Hawke, I swear,” Cullen said breezily. Blackwall started to laugh. 

 

When Evelyn opened the tent flap, they caught sight of Cassandra, not wearing her breastplate, her chest simply bound in the white bands Evelyn wore as she tucked away Varric’s book under the covers of her bedroll guiltily. Cullen thought she glanced at Hawke before her face turned absolutely pink as the tent flap fell behind Evelyn. “Argh!! Cullen jumped up, his back stinging like blazes.

 

“Sorry! Sorry!” Hawke snorted as Blackwall burst out laughing despite his frazzled beard. “Sit back down!” 

 

“No!” 

 

“Come on, Cullen!” 

 

“Blackwall, help me with the bandages before he actually kills me!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took longer than I expected. On to the next mission!


	28. The Promise

Cullen rolled onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. He blinked, seeing the wooden ceiling painted with the sunburst of the Chantry. It would be awkward, he noted, to make love in a room with the Chantry symbol looming over you. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. It felt like he had been sleeping on clouds. He had been away from Skyhold at Adamant for only about a month but it felt like a lifetime ago.

 

He looked around, sunlight streaming in through the open balcony doors. He was… home. As much as a place could feel like home to him. Returning to Skyhold late the night before, he wondered if anyone knew he was back. He climbed out of bed, the sheets falling from his bare body. He got dressed, pulling on his tunic and lacing it up as he walked onto the balcony. He let the sounds of the keep wash over him. The bustle of the workers constructing a proper infirmary, the sound of training from the camps beyond the keep rising in the wind. Even the haggling of shopkeepers in the lower courtyard. He leaned on the verandah, the breeze on his face. He felt… new. It was hard to think that only over a week ago, he had been in the desert, hoping for death. Of all the failures he’d had, he was glad for that one. 

 

He saw Cassandra and Bull in the upper courtyard near the stocks, sparring. It it looked like sparring. He had nearly left these people behind. He realised he didn’t know them very well. That… should change. 

 

He put on his armour, sword strapped to his belt, and grabbed a quick breakfast from the kitchen. Cassandra and Bull were still sparring at the stocks. That would be something to see, he mused as he ambled over to them, beef sandwich in his hand. “Again,” Bull said, bracing himself, his arms flexed by his side. Cassandra held a massive hardwood stick. She swung it hard, hitting Bull in the side. Cullen stopped chewing, watching them in puzzlement. 

 

Bull grunted when the stick hit his side, sounding like striking a sack of meat, which in all fairness, was exactly what Bull was. “Again!” Bull growled. Cassandra wordlessly took another swing. Cullen leaned against the wall, eating his sandwich as he watched the mysterious display. Cassandra glanced at him, smiling her greeting. 

 

“Argh, come on!” Bull growled in frustration. “This is why the Qun doesn’t like women fighting! I should have asked Cullen! Am I right, Boss?” 

 

“I am not involved in this,” Cullen said quickly. He saw Cassandra’s eyes narrow dangerously as she drew the stick back. The next swing came like the fist of the Maker himself, knocking Bull flat on the ground. The Qunari dropped like a falling tree. Cullen opened his eyes, wincing. 

 

“Good one,” Bull groaned from the ground. 

 

“You should have braced on your blind side - you always leave it open,” Cullen chided.

 

Cassandra chuckled, turning to Cullen. She handed him the stick. “Perhaps you’d like to take over.”

 

“Take over what?” Cullen asked as she stood to the side, leaving him with sandwich in one hand and stick in the other. 

 

“Qunari training exercise to master your fear,” Bull explained as he stood up, shaking the ringing from his ears. “I heard about the nightmare at Adamant. Sounded big.”

 

Cullen looked down at the stick. “Why am I supposed to hit you with a stick?” he asked. 

 

“I could tell you if I tried, but it’d involve a lot of Qunari words though,” Bull replied. “Just hit me with the stick, alright? I need to get over this demon crap.”

 

Let no one ever say Skyhold was boring. Cullen shrugged and pushed the last of the sandwich into his mouth. He levelled the stick as he chewed and swung it hard. “Ugh! There we go!” Bull grunted, sounding pleased. Cullen tried not to grin with his mouth full. He swung the stick again, putting his back into it. “Awe yeah! Damn demon!” Cullen swung again as he tried not to choke from keeping from laughing. The grunts Bull was making sounded… wrong. “Ugh! Who’s stuck in the Fade, huh?”

 

Cullen swallowed. “Every fucking demon at Adamant wanted to rip you in half!” he goaded Bull on, striking him in the gut again. “And where are those bastards now?”

 

“Fucking dead!” Bull roared. “And who killed you, huh?” Another strike. “That’s right! Iron, fucking, Bull!” He roared, flexing his impossibly huge muscles. Cullen took a step back, frankly impressed by the Bull’s physique. “Awe yeah! That’s better,” Bull grunted. 

 

“On the list of things I didn’t expect to do this morning, this was probably near the top,” Cullen laughed. 

 

Bull was panting, his face red, his abdomen bruising. “I needed that,” he grunted happily. “Thanks, Boss.”

 

“Anytime,” Cullen grinned. “But next time, maybe less… vaguely erotic grunting.”

 

Bull grinned at him. “Dorian and I are fine for erotic grunting. Maybe you need some of that,” Bull slapped him on the back, nearly bowling him over. “Get the Commander to give you advice.”

 

“I am fine for erotic grunting,” Cullen winced, straightening up, blushing despite himself. “Stop laughing, Cassandra.”

 

“I should get back to my training,” Cassandra grinned at him. 

 

“I might as well join you,” Cullen grinned back. 

 

“Good,” Bull said. “I want to see a proper shield bash. Krem can’t do it for shit.” Cullen smirked and took off his furs for the training. It was invigorating to train with Cassandra and Bull. It felt like old times, when he was younger, a fresh recruit so full of fervor, experiencing camaraderie in the Templars for the first time. Cassandra knew his moves, which made her a harder opponent. She was also was precise as he was, though her hits were more vicious. Bull’s raw power pushed him to the limits as well, dodging, the blows trying to match his strength. He was sweating by the time the sun was high and their training completed, but he felt immensely better than before. What a difference it was from his flight from Adamant.

 

He thought he’d head to the battlements to cool down in the breeze up there, after a much needed drink at the Rest. The day was free for him. There was still work to do, things to follow up on. But no one would fault him for spending a day to be with his companions. Especially in light of what he had nearly done. When he emerged from the Rest, he saw Cole and Solas coming the other way, walking down the steps. Their conversation seemed to be quite heated. Cullen ambled over. “--But you like demons!” Cole exclaimed. 

 

“I enjoy the company of spirits, yes, which is why I do not abuse them with bindings!” Solas said firmly. 

 

“It isn’t abuse if I ask!” Cole insisted. 

 

“Not always true. Also I do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation academic.”

 

“What’s going on?” Cullen asked, joining them. 

 

Cole strode over urgently to him. “He won’t bind me!” he cried. 

 

“What?” Cullen blinked. 

 

“He’s a mage and he likes demons but he won’t help!” 

 

“Why would want Solas to bind you?” Cullen exclaimed. 

 

“So I’m safe!” Cole fretted, pacing, his hands rubbing each other nervously. “If Solas won’t do the ritual to bind me, someone else could - will! Like the Warden Mages! And then…” He stopped, shivering, his wide-brimmed hat blocking his eyes. “I’m not me anymore… Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster--” 

 

“Cole,” Cullen said gently, lifting the boy’s hat to look at his face. Watery eyes stared back at him from under that mop of hair. “A blood mage can conceivably do that to any one of us, Cole. Human or demon.”

 

Cole grabbed his hand. “You should ask Solas to bind you too!” said the boy breathlessly. “Then someone could bind him!” 

 

“No.” Cullen frowned. “Calm down. We’ll find a way to keep you safe without binding you, Cole. I’ve been bound. I would not wish it on an enemy, let alone you.”

 

Cole whimpered and let go of him, resuming his pacing, his hands clasped in fear. Cullen felt his heart bleed with pity for the boy. 

 

“I have a suggestion, if Cole is willing to listen,” Solas spoke, crossing his arms. “I recall stories of amulets used by Rivaini seers. They protect spirits they summoned from rival mages. A spirit wearing such an amulet was immune to blood magic and bindings. It should protect Cole as well. Perhaps the resources of the Inquisition could be able to find such an amulet.” 

 

“I’ll put in a requisition for it,” Cullen said. 

 

“Good,” Cole said firmly. “They will not take me.” The boy strode away without a thought. Boy, Cullen mused. Cole was a spirit, he called himself a demon. And yet in Cullen’s head, he would always be a boy. Cullen glanced at Solas, who was watching him thoughtfully. “Have I given offence?” Cullen asked. 

 

“No, Inquisitor,” Solas smiled faintly. “Far from it. You surprise me, in fact. I had not expected your treatment of Cole to be so genuinely warm.”

 

“And why would you think that?”

 

“Your fear of demons is known to us. The spirits speak of your time in the Fade, with Nightmare, at Therinfal, even of Kinloch.”

 

“The spirits speak of me?” Cullen exclaimed. “You must be joking. Why would they speak of me?”

 

“Because your mark burns like a comet in the Fade. They are drawn to your will like moths to a flame.” 

 

Cullen’s eyes darted about. “Right now?” he asked. 

 

“So you still fear,” Solas mused, his finger on his chin. “Yet you treat Cole with kindness despite it.”

 

“Solas, it’s really not that mysterious,” Cullen said. “I just trust him.”

 

“Is it that simple?”

 

“I’m a Templar,” Cullen shrugged. “We’re notoriously uncomplicated, simple creatures.”

 

“I have noticed that,” Solas chuckled slightly. 

 

“I thought you might like that,” Cullen smiled. 

 

“I do hope you find the amulet, Inquisitor,” said Solas. “This is causing Cole a lot of distress.”

 

++++

 

As much as he wanted a day to himself, the war went on. Cullen lasted till after lunch before he was pacing the keep drawing up a to do list. He had to find Samson, Carrol, Calpernia and ultimately defeat the Elder One and dismantle the Venatori-- did he have time to rest? His footsteps brought him to the battlements where he was ostensibly checking the ramparts. Maybe he could speak to Josephine. It didn’t have to be a full meeting, but he would feel better if he got something done. 

 

The west section of wall was in good shape, some of the repairs even restoring the broken battlements. Stonemasons were laying stone, mortar and blocks and chisels littered the ground. Some of the masons bowed at him as he passed. Cullen tried not to let his discomfort show, but one stonemason was too engrossed in his task. He was carving a relief into the stone. Cullen realized that all along the battlements, other masons were carving as well. He ambled over, looking over the young man’s shoulder. “What are you carving?” Cullen asked curiously. 

 

The mason did not look up. “A red lion,” he said, distractedly. 

 

Cullen stared. “What?”

 

The mason looked over his shoulder and swore, dropping his chisel. “Sorry! Inquisitor! I--” he sputtered, bowing. 

 

“Stop it,” Cullen said. “What’s this about lions?”

 

“It’s… part of the requisition?” the boy said. “Uh, perhaps ask the foreman, ser?”

 

“How many lions will there be?”

 

“Six big ones on the corner towers and gatehouse and all along the inside of the battlements.”

 

Cullen stared in disbelief. “That’s part of the requisition orders?”

 

“Er, last briefing, yes?”

 

Cullen tried not to groan. He didn’t remember anything about lions on the walls. He left the mason to his work and strode to Evelyn’s office. Despite the shock of the ostentatious requisition, he actually felt his heart lift at the thought of seeing her. Which was… sentimental and silly. Had he always been like that?

 

He opened her door and froze. She turned to look at him, breathing hard, her body bare but for the white tape that bound her chest. She held knives in her hand and faced the training dummy in her office. “Hello Inquisitor,” she said, throwing the knife hard over one shoulder. It pierced the dummy’s straw head. “Training went well?”

 

“How did you…”

 

“We could hear you laughing from here,” she said, frowning as she leveled another knife and threw it viciously. 

 

“Oh, right. It was good, actually.” He crossed his arms, watching her. “About those lions…”

 

“What lions? Oh, the battlement adornments. Fereldan red lions,” she said. “Basalt with bloodstone. They are going to look magnificent.”

 

She wasn’t smiling. She threw another dagger at the dummy, her muscles bunching as she let the dagger fly. It hit the wall instead and bounced onto the floor. She swore as she walked forward to retrieve her blades. 

 

“Something tells me you’re not in the mood to talk about lions,” Cullen said. 

 

She chuckled as she handed him the knives. “You have a go, show me how it’s done. I want to take a sit.”

 

“Oh come now,” Cullen sighed, taking the knives. He walked to the dummy. “What’s the matter?”

 

“Can’t it wait for tomorrow?” she asked. “We advisors did agree that this would be a day for you to rest.”

 

“I’ll rest better if I didn’t have to worry,” he said. He let the knife fly. “Since you won’t tell me, I presume it concerns the Inquisition.”

 

She sighed as she moved to the other side of the table to unstopper a wine bottle and fill a goblet. There were several bottles on the ground around her table. “You’re cleverness is slightly insufferable, my lord Inquisitor,” she said, her hand on her hip. 

 

“As is your evasive response,” he smiled at her. “Just tell me, I promise not to do any Inquisitoring today, but I still want to be kept abreast.”

 

She laughed. “Breast.”

 

“You need to spend less time with Sera,” Cullen sighed. 

 

“Alright, then Inquisitor.” She pointed at a map that was unrolled on her table. “Ser Laurent has sent me a report. We have found Samson’s red lyrium mining operation.” 

 

The dagger struck the face of the dummy, sunk nearly to the hilt. Cullen’s eyes were hard. “Report.”

 

“She’s been operating out of the Emerald Graves undercover for the past few weeks, working for this ‘freedom-fighter’ called Fairbanks. He mostly organizes local militia against Orlesian deserters calling themselves the Freemen. There have been rumours of collusion between the Freemen and the Red Templars for a while. She just sent a report that the mining operation is in Emplise du Lion.”

 

“That’s a very good thing,” Cullen said. “And you are angry because?”

 

“Because she has told me that she has found the opportunity to go deeper undercover.” She downed her drink. “Into the Red Templars.” 

 

Cullen let the last dagger fly. “What did you do?”

 

“I sent her orders not to,” she replied slamming her cup down. “I hope they get to her in time. Stupid woman!” She sighed as Cullen went to get the daggers from the training dummy’s head. “Still, we know where the mining operation is now. All we need to do is investigate. But there is a problem.”

 

“What problem?”

 

She leaned over the map, resting her weight on her arms. “We can’t get soldiers into the Emplise. The winter there is harsh, bitter, brutal. And the Red Templars swarm the roads like flies on shit. I need to get a good team in there to--” A dagger pierced the map, spearing Emplise du Lion. 

 

Evelyn looked up. “I’ll go,” Cullen said, taking his hand off the dagger’s hilt, his eyes hard. 

 

“You said no Inquisitoring today,” she reminded him. 

 

“I’ll go tomorrow,” he replied. 

 

“Cul- Inquisitor, I can get agents in there, I’ll just need time.”

 

“I know you can, but this is different.”

 

She straightened up and folded her arms. “This is personal for you, isn’t it?” 

 

He frowned. “Perhaps.”

 

“Alright,” she said, her hand on her hip. “I’m listening. I thought it was just the fact that Samson was a fellow Templar that riled you, but clearly it is more than that. How do you know Samson anyway?”

 

Cullen sighed. “He was a Templar in Kirkwall, until he was expelled from the Order. When I first arrived there, he and I shared quarters. He seemed a decent man, at first. When he was expelled for ‘erratic behaviour’, he ended up begging on the streets. He engaged in some petty crimes, but always eluded the Order’s justice. Now he is the leader of the Red Templars, Corypheus’s General.”

 

He shook his head. “Red lyrium is nothing like what we were given. Its power comes with a terrible madness. And now to see him giving it to others… people I knew.” People who could have been me, had I not left...

 

She stared at him and folded her arms. “We will discuss this tomorrow, Inquisitor. At the War Council.”

 

He glanced at her. “Oh? You disapprove.” It was not a question.

 

“Of course,” she said. “In the strongest possible terms. In Therinfal the red lyrium nearly… It was a great strain for you to handle. Now you want to walk into a mine?”

 

“I can manage,” he said. 

 

She bit back her words. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

 

“We’ll argue, you mean.”

 

“Naturally. I have a lot to say to you, but I’ll save it till then. I don’t want you traipsing off right into the heart of all the red lyrium like a Sunday walk in the park. Not after--” She worried her lip, turning away. She was concerned for him. Of course, she was. It was hard for Cullen to remember that this time, he wasn’t alone. He was needed, yes, but he was also wanted. It was unlike Meredith. Cassandra, Cole, Bull, Blackwall, Hawke… and Evelyn. Everyone. They had his back. Evelyn feared for his safety, and she had the cutest way of worrying her lip. 

 

On impulse, he leaned over the table, his weight on his knuckles as he kissed her cheek. Shock at himself lanced through him and he would have pulled away had she not turned into the kiss. “That’s not going to help,” she said firmly, his lips on her jaw, the smell of her skin heady in his nose - sweat and soap and some other strange oiled perfume. What was it? Lily? “Cull- Inquisitor…” she murmured, his kiss trailing to her lip. She made the word ‘Inquisitor’ sound amazing. What was he doing? Something sneaky, yes, but also something that felt very nice. “I’m still… not happy,” she breathed, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. He nipped her lower lip, tugging it lightly and releasing it. The moment stilled breathlessly as they looked at each other. 

 

Then Evelyn gasped and climbed onto the table, throwing her arms around his neck as he blinked in surprise. She held his face as she tilted his head up into the kiss, kneeling on the desk, papers and cup forgotten.  That was a reaction he was not expecting. He closed his eyes and held her waist, deepening the kiss, his heart pounding and breath shallow, her fingers tugging his furs as their tongues danced. She had… She was… sucking on his tongue. He moaned, his hands gripping the armour at her waist, longing to reach around to claim the curves of her rear that he secretly so enjoyed watching. 

 

She pulled away, blushing rosily across her face, neck and shoulders. That was… surprisingly successful. And very nice. He would have to do it again. “You did that on purpose,” she accused, frowning at him. “It was very good.”

 

He snorted, looking up at her as he caught his breath, his lips still wet from their kiss. “Did it distract you?” he asked. 

 

“I think it distracted you more.”

 

“We were talking about lions, yes?”

 

“Nice try, but no, we were talking about something else,” she said, smacking him on the breastplate, making the metal ring like a bell as she climbed off the table in front of him, her body close enough to his for him to feel the heat from her bare skin. The temptation was great. Cullen wanted nothing more than to just take her. Pin her to the table as she squirmed under him. What did she sound like when she moaned in pleasure? What did she look like under those white bands. Maker’s breath, she was right. That silly stunt did distract him more. She was standing there before him almost expectantly between him and the desk. 

 

He bit back the desire. No, not in a moment of hunger. That shouldn’t be the way it went. “We should, um, get this information to Leliana,” he said, putting on a smile as he stepped back from her. His body felt hotter now than it was when he was training with Cassandra and Bull. He felt like he needed a roll in the snow. 

 

“You’re right,” she said, gathering the papers, a fleeting look of disappointment in her eyes. She handed them to him and went to put on her tunic and padded leather vest on over her shoulders. Strapping on her breastplate, they headed out of her office to the rotunda. The cold air of the bridge cooled his flushed cheeks. 

 

They passed Dorian on the way up. The man looked at him with a smirk. “Had a little exercise, Inquisitor?” he teased as they walked past. “Or are you just happy to see me?”

 

“We were making out,” Evelyn grinned. 

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed. “Evelyn!” 

 

Dorian burst out laughing as they passed, Cullen’s face lit and hot like a new sun. “Why would you even--” he began. 

 

“Dorian knows about us, Inquisitor,” Evelyn smirked at him. “Actually, most people do.”

 

“I suppose that is to be expected,” Cullen sighed as they climbed the stairs. 

 

She glanced at him. “Does it concern you?”

 

“I-- no. I would regret it more if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I think,” he admitted. The smile that lit her face was genuine and warm. 

 

They entered the rookery, Leliana seated at the table with her eyes on the crystal, gently spinning in its metal cage. “Inquisitor,” she greeted. “I was expecting you.”

 

“Were you?” Cullen asked, sitting down opposite her with Evelyn beside him. 

 

“I knew you couldn’t last not working until lunch time,” Leliana smiled. 

 

Cullen chuckled. “I suppose that’s true,” he said. “It is lunch time. Have you managed to get the crystal into Calpurnia's camp?”

 

“We have,” she said, and touched the metal cage. The dwarven crystal sparked and the air wavered. Two figures appeared, one familiar. Cullen surmised that this woman was Calpernia, whom he’d seen before. “No amount of honey can sweeten felandris,” she complained. 

 

The other figure looked downcast. “I’ll keep trying.”

 

“You are no slave, Linnea. I’ll add another spoonful myself.” The figures wavered and vanished. 

 

“Interesting,” Cullen said. “She seems to be treating her new acolytes kindly.”

 

“It’s almost like you, isn’t it?” Evelyn said. “A chosen one, touched by a holiness from an ancient time.”

 

“Me?” Cullen blinked.

 

“You are touched by Andraste, who supposedly gave you that mark when you left the Fade. She seems the same, but instead of Andraste, she was taken under the wing of the priest of Dumat. I wonder if she commands the same respect as you do.”

 

“What that is interesting,” Leliana said. “This is what you must hear.” She touched the cage once more. 

 

“Master, forgive me, I didn’t expect--” Calpurnia's shade wavered to life. 

 

Corypheus’s figure loomed over her. “The time draws near. The Inquisition have taken the Gray Wardens. Your ascension becomes imperative. Tell me of your preparation.”

 

“They go well enough, although I am distracted here. If I could train at the shrine…”

 

“Only Dumat’s faithful may enter.” 

 

“Yet you allow Samson there.”

 

“Continue as before… or would you see the Imperium’s rebirth stalled by your lack of focus?” 

 

Calpernia straightened up. “I will be ready,” she said. “As the vessel and Tevinter’s champion.”

 

“She seems to care more about Tevinter than about Corypheus,” Cullen noted. 

 

Calpurnia sighed in frustration. “Another deflection,” she snarled. “And… why, a dwarven bauble. As if mine was miraculously returned to me! I wonder who your new owner might be.”

 

Then she seemed to be looking straight at them. “Know this, Inquisition. You cannot stop the rise of Tevinter. We will save our nation and right this blighted world. Stand in our way, and suffer my wrath.” The figure faded suddenly. 

 

“That was all it recorded before she found it. But I think it may be enough,” Leliana said.

 

“A shrine to Dumat, Corypheus said,” Evelyn mused. “Where she’s forbidden to go, but Samson is more than welcome. That must have her extremely unhappy.” 

 

“Who is this Dumat?” Cullen asked. 

 

“An Old God worshipped in ancient Tevinter as the Dragon of Silence,” Leliana said as she leaned back in her chair. “He was the first to rise as an archdemon and bring the Blight. Truly a fitting god for Corypheus.”

 

“Why bar her from the shrine?” Evelyn asked. “You let in the lyrium-addled Free Marcher but a daughter of Tevinter you deny?”

 

“Perhaps there’s something there he doesn’t want her to see,” Leliana mused. “Whatever Corypheus hides from his trusted lieutenant should be illuminating.”

 

“And we can expect Samson to be there as well,” Cullen’s eyes narrowed. 

 

“All that’s left to do is find it,” Evelyn said. She handed Leliana the papers from her office. “Ser Laurent has exposed the Red Templar lyrium mining operation in the Emprise. If Samson is at this shrine, perhaps we should look for him.”

 

“As the Commander and I have discussed,” Cullen cut in. “We will prepare the logistics of this expedition tomorrow. If Samson’s operation in Emprise du Lion can point us to the Shrine, I’m looking into this matter personally.”

 

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Inquisitor,” she nodded. “Tomorrow at the War Room then.”

 

+++++

 

There was the sound of chiseling wood coming from the barn. Cullen ambled over, the evening sun staining the keep red behind him. The horses nickered in their stables as he passed. He pat their noses with a gentle hand. Long shafts of sunlight lanced into the barn, motes hanging in the air sparkled. Blackwall was at a workbench, carving something made of wood. Cullen smiled as he rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. Blackwall saw him approach and blinked, his hammer and chisel stilling. “This? This is just… something to keep the hands busy,” he muttered.  

 

“You’re a man of many talents,” Cullen chuckled, leaning against a barn pillar. “Woodworking was unexpected, though.”

 

Blackwall grinned. “Oh? What were you expecting?”

 

“Butchery?”

 

Blackwall laughed at that. “Well, that’s more of a job, not a hobby, Inquisitor.” He set down his tools. “I really should thank you for tracking me down when you did. As nice as wandering about the woods was, this is better.”

 

“I should be the one doing the thanking,” Cullen said. “For giving me a chance.”

 

“To what?” Blackwall grinned. 

 

“Make a mistake,” Cullen sighed. “For… understanding.”

 

“Well, we all make mistakes, Inquisitor. You, me… The point is what you do afterwards.” He turned to the brazier that lit the barn, filling the area with warmth. Cullen walked over to join him. “You are who you choose to follow,” Blackwall said. “Someone told me that once. Took me years to understand what he meant.”

 

Cullen thought back to Meredith, his eyes lost in the flames. “Wise words,” he murmured. Only upon Meredith’s death did he see clearly what he had become. Spreading the same fear to the mages that he himself had experienced, he had become the monsters who caged him. 

 

“A chevalier told me that,” Blackwall said, crossing his arms. “He was a true knight. Helped me in the Grand Tourney. He put aside his own ambitions to help me win the melee. Then, left me with those words before we parted.”

 

“You parted? I imagine he wanted to make you a squire.”

 

“He did, but I was young, stupid. I’d just won the melee at the Grand Tourney. I didn’t need him.”

 

Cullen snorted and shook his head. 

 

“Yes, stupid, I know.” Blackwall chuckled. “My life would have been very different had I followed him. I regret that. But now it seems I made the right decision after all.”

 

“Blackwall…” Cullen began. 

 

“Don’t flog yourself, Cullen. I could have stopped you, but I let you go. I know when a man’s at the edge. Sometimes, biting the horizon is the only remedy for despair. The important thing is that you came back…”

 

“Cassandra and the others convinced me, Blackwall.”

 

Blackwall looked at him. “You could have told us to bugger off. You could have ridden the horse off a cliff. You could have done a thousand different things that would have left us leaderless.”

 

“I nearly did,” Cullen said, his voice hollow. “Adamant was… Adamant broke me. I was… weak.”

 

“We’re all human, Inquisitor. Even you. Move on, be stronger.”

 

Cullen smiled slightly at Blackwall, feeling grateful for the man’s reliable presence. 

 

Blackwall sighed heavily. “Adamant was hard on all of us. The fortress was the Order. ‘A guardian on the edge of the abyss, a lone soul who stares into oblivion and doesn’t waver,’ that’s how it was described to me. That’s what Warden Commander Clarel tried to be. What they all tried to be. None of the Wardens we saw wavered. They gave their lives - willingly.” Blackwall’s eyes narrowed, his voice a growl. “They died for us, and Corypheus twisted his sacrifice to make it his own!” 

 

“That’s why he has to die,” Cullen said softly. “It’s a miracle we saved as many Wardens as we did.”

 

“But not all of them,” Blackwall said. “And they died doing something they thought was right. Even Clarel. Her desire to do good was so great it led her astray. It’s not right, to want to do good, to be good, and to have that turned against you.”

 

“He did the same to the Templars. He pushed us-- them over the edge. Gave them red lyrium and a promise to see the world restored, all lies. And the man who helped him is out there, still poisoning the Order, or what’s left of it. Corypheus is able to take things good and turned them evil. He takes the protectors and turns them into villains, twists them into everything they stand against. Wardens fighting for the Blight, Templars serving to proliferate chaos.” 

 

His hand tightened on the pommel of his sword. “The Inquisition cannot fall to him.” If there was to be penance for his weakness at Adamant, he would do anything necessary to see the Inquisition succeed. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Quizzie Cully is still here. Writing dry spells are the worst.


	29. Interested Parties

“One of the lingering pains of Adamant, Your Worship,” Josephine said as she stood at the foot of the dias, her voice echoing in the hall of gathered nobles who had come to see the judgement. Cullen stared as a Warden was led into the hall, her eyes downcast, her hands clasped as if in prayer. Why a Warden? Why would Solona send her to him? His eyes glittered coldly in the morning light that streamed in through the stained glass behind him, colouring the floor like a shattered rainbow. 

 

“Ser Ruth, a senior Warden of the Order,” Josephine went on. “Warden-Commander Amell informs us that Ser Ruth will accept no judgement from the Order for her crimes. She is one of many who slit the throat of another to bind a demon. She does not contest this.”

 

Ser Ruth was pushed to stand before the bottom of dias. “She requests no mercy,” Josephine sighed softly. “She wants the public justice of the headsman’s axe.”

 

Cullen frowned. A woman asking to die. A Warden who thought she was doing the right thing, twisted by Corypheus’s lies. He was aware of Blackwall watching from the back of the hall, where he stood with Evelyn, Bull, Varric and Cassandra. Dorian and Vivienne, as usual, peered on from the second floor mezzanine. Solas was no doubt listening from the rotunda. “You’re very serious about this,” Cullen said, leaning forward in his throne. “Why? Is more death the answer?”

 

“There is no excuse for my actions,” Ser Ruth breathed. “I murdered another of the Order. That blood marks me more than the Blight ever could.”

 

“Excepting their actions while thalls of Corypheus, the treaties allow Wardens any extreme if it opposes the Blight,” Josephine pointed out. 

 

“Ser Ruth…” Cullen sighed. “There is no excuse for what you have done, but--”

 

“I can’t do it!” Ruth wept, her hands clasped, begging. “I can’t use the greater good to justify my crimes, as if it could create a future I could be a part of!” She lowered her head. “It is wrong that this false calling broke me. I’ve done worse with full sanction. I can do nothing, except be an example of the cost.”

 

Adamant broke her. Just as it broke him. Corypheus’s plot wounded so many. But given time, perhaps they could all heal. He drew a slow breath. Perhaps they could all forgive themselves…

 

“Ser Ruth, death is not penance,” he said gently. Stop flogging yourself, Blackwall had said. Sometimes, a harsh hand was needed to guide down the gentle path. His voice hardened. “Nothing brings out fear and pity like a criminal bound for the mines. Place her in the stocks and then have her serve her sentence at hard labour for the next ten years, if she survives. I leave your death in your hands, Ser Ruth. Think on things.”

 

“If it will serve as a warning, I go willingly,” Ruth breathed. She looked up at him, her eyes defeated and broken, eyes that were hauntingly familiar. He saw them when he looked in his own mirror sometimes. “Thank you.”

 

He waved to have her taken away. Ser Ruth was escorted from the hall as the buzz rose around him. He had forgotten about this, his most favourite part of judgements - the commentary. Maker… But justice had to be served in the light. He was going to be complained about and criticised no matter what. At least he could bring some order to a mad world. “Who else is to be judged?” he asked Josephine, three shadows appearing silhouetted against the light of the main hall’s doors. He recognized the rounded pauldrons and foolish swagger. “Ah.” Finally, a judgment he was looking forward to.

 

“Adamant’s influence continues, your worship,” Josephine went on. Cullen rested his head against his fingers and looked down at the white-clad Erimond who was dragged up to the throne, the Tevinter’s robes grimy and his face sullen and rebellious. “I submit to you Lord Lyvius Erimond of Vyrantium, who remains loyal to Corypheus. We found him offering extreme resistance, likely because the Order will ask for his head, in more colourful terms. To say nothing about the justice you might personally require for what was suffered in the Fade.” She rested her hand on the clipboard, not looking at Lyvius. 

 

“Present the charges then, as if I do not know them already,” Cullen drawled, leaning his cheek on his curled fingers as he stared at the Magister. “This judgement, at least, will be swift.” 

 

“I recognize none of these proceedings,” Lyvius spat. “You have no authority to judge me.”

 

“On the contrary, many officials have communicated that they will defer to the Inquisitor on this matter,” Josephine said loftily. She clearly had opinions about Erimond, but seemed to be doing her best to keep them in check. 

 

“Because they fear,” Lyvius sneered. “Not just Corypheus, but Tevinter - owner of every bit of ground you’ve trod on in your pathetic life.” He straightened, his manacles clinking as he moved. “Bring down your blades and free me from the physical. Glory awaits me!” 

 

Solona wanted this man’s head. Cullen wanted this man’s head. On a pike. Cullen had never thought he’d ever feel such animosity towards a man before. He despised the sight of Erimond. Erimond himself wanted to die, but unlike Ser Ruth, he had convinced himself that this was a glorious salvation. Cullen leaned back as his fingers touching his lip in thought. “Lord Erimond, whatever protection you thought you had has apparently been withdrawn. I do not see your Corypheus coming to save you now. Indeed, it seems he has abandoned you to your fate. Is this the great living god you serve?” 

 

Lyvius’s eyes looked troubled. “You have no right to speak of Corypheus--”

 

“I have every right,” Cullen snapped, his voice as cold and hard as a falling blade. “Where is your God, Erimond? As silent as the Maker he mocks, it seems. Are you so dispensable that he would leave you to die? Or perhaps he has tired of you after your utter failure at Adamant. He gave you a dragon, he gave you power, yet you still did not deliver him the army he needed to conquer Thedas for the glory of Tevinter. Tell me, how does he treat acolytes who fail in their duty to both nation and God?”

 

He pointed at the man. “I tell you this, Erimond, in your death you will give the Inquisition a symbol of triumph over Corypheus’s forces. All will see how the mighty magister of the Venatori has fallen. All will turn their gaze upon the mighty hand of Corypheus, head now mounted on a pike atop Skyhold’s walls.” He paused as he took in Erimond’s horrified glare. The man’s look turned to one of futile rage. Envy’s vision flashed in his mind, corpses hanging from the walls of the throne room, his judgement malicious, the innocent falling victim to his whims. But not here. Erimond had to pay. Death was too easy for the man.

 

“We’ll even put your name on the pike,” Cullen mused, tapping his chin with steepled fingers. “Lord Lyvius Erimond of Vyrantium, hand of the Living God Corypheus, the Elder One.”

 

“Petty actions,” Erimond snapped.

 

“Say your prayers to your Living God, Erimond,” Cullen growled, his expression bearing the promise of blood and steel. “For your crimes, you will die by my hand.”

 

“Truth lies in the next world!”

 

“Indeed,” Cullen said softly. “Give Corypheus my regards when I send him to you. Take him to the Gallows.”

 

++++

 

Cullen had never killed on a stage before. Decapitations were not easy at the best of times, and Erimond kept squirming, the fool. It had taken one good strike, something Cullen realized only his years of training had allowed him to do. Any more inexperienced and Erimond would have wound up with his jaw cut off to die a slow and painful death. The man was a fool to the very end. Cullen sat in the War Room now. Erimond was one problem, there was still other business to attend to. 

 

Josephine, Evelyn and Leliana sat around the table, organizing their papers. “The first on the agenda,” Josephine began. She delighted in chairing meetings, and Cullen didn’t. They were a perfect match. “Is the matter of the Wardens.”

 

“Doesn’t Solona have them in hand in the Western Approach?” Cullen asked. “Her and Hawke, if he’s keeping out of trouble there.”

 

“Indeed, but missives have come in from the township of Val Gamord. They claim to be besieged and attacked by darkspawn,” Josephine said, handing Cullen a parchment. 

 

He took it and read it. “A township being attacked is strange,” Leliana said. “Perhaps we should investigate this before we send in the Gray Wardens.”

 

“Or, just send them in right away,” Evelyn spoke up. “They’re the best in the world at killing darkspawn. Let them do their duty. If there are no darkspawn after all, they go back.”

 

“There’s the possibility that we could let Marquise Buoffon call upon her own noble allies to render assistance,” Josephine said. 

 

“No, send in the Wardens. They need the victory and the boost in morale after Adamant,” Cullen said. “And if there are no darkspawn, at least the Marquis owes the Inquisition a favour for looking into the problem.”

 

“I’ll relay your orders, to Warden Commander Amell,” Evelyn said. 

 

“Ah, you are learning the basics of politics, Inquisitor,” Josephine smiled. “Favours are the oil upon which the gears of the great machine runs.”

 

“It also eases your burden now that I’m not blundering around like a druffalo in a glass house, yes?” he smiled at Josephine. 

 

“There may be hope for you after all, Cullen,” Josephine ticked off her clipboard. “Next, we have the issue of Keran.” 

 

Cullen sighed. He’d completely forgotten about Keran in the madness of Adamant. “What is his status, Commander?” 

 

“He’s alive. Hurting from lyrium sickness. Delirious most of the time. He hasn’t been able to give us more information. We’ve been holding him, the physicians are making close notes on his withdrawals from Red Lyrium.” 

 

“Is he in pain?” Cullen asked. 

 

“Of course he is,” Evelyn replied calmly. She held up a hand. “But it’s not the work of the excellent Mr Morcroft this time. Or mine. The first weeks off lyrium are agony, you know this. It would be best for us to… keep him. The more we learn about the red, the better. And Dagna could have a look at him as well.”

 

Cullen nodded. “Then keep him alive, see if we can… save him.”

 

“Why?” Leliana asked. “He did try to kill you, Inquisitor.”

 

“We gain nothing by killing him, Leliana,” Cullen replied. “And neither does he.”

 

“If you say so, Inquisitor.” Her frown made it evident that she disagreed. 

 

“Now the next thing is sure to brighten your day, Inquisitor,” Josephine grinned at him. Evelyn shared her glance and bit her lip to keep from laughing. 

 

Cullen raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the two women. “What is it?” he asked slowly. 

 

“We’ve received several letters from Orlais requesting information on your lineage from a few… interested parties,” Josephine said, holding up a sheaf of expensive envelopes, some edged in gold. 

 

“Why?” Cullen frowned. The word came out before his thoughts supplied him the answer. 

 

“Maker’s breath!” Evelyn rolled her eyes.

 

“Andraste preserve me!” Cullen sputtered, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Feel free to use those requests as kindling!” 

 

“No, I shall take them,” Leliana grinned, reaching to Josephine and taking the letters. “I want to know who pines for our Inquisitor! We can use this to our advantage.”

 

“I am not bait!” Cullen snapped. 

 

“Hush,” Leilana said, preoccupied as she delicately slit open an envelope with a stiletto dagger. “Just look pretty.”

 

Evelyn burst out laughing, leaning back in her chair and covering her mouth. 

 

“And you find this funny?” Cullen asked, feeling a little betrayed by her laughing. 

 

“You are very pretty,” she giggled.

 

“And your hair does look nice today,” Josephine smiled, eyeing him. 

 

“I-- It’s--” 

 

“Beeswax and lots of it,” Evelyn smiled. 

 

Cullen shuffled the papers before him, burning under the scrutiny of the three women, one of whom he actually loved-- The thought stopped dead in its tracks in his head. Maker, he did, though… He shook his head. “No, it’s not, it’s--” 

 

“You mean it gets that way on its own?” Leliana asked. 

 

Cullen sighed in exasperation. “Not… entirely. May we speak of something else?”

 

“Like the Emprise?” Leliana said. 

 

Evelyn stopped laughing at that point. 

 

“Yes, like the Emprise,” Cullen replied. “We will need your scouts to establish a forward camp in the area, Leliana. It is imperative that we smash the Red Templar presence.”

 

“I agree,” Evelyn said. 

 

Cullen stared at her expectantly. Evelyn said nothing.

 

“What? That’s it? Didn’t you protest in the strongest possible terms?” 

 

“You already know that I do,” she said in resignation. “ Yet, you still insist on going despite it. You know the risks of Red Lyrium around you, but you say you can manage.”

 

“Some missions are too important to leave to agents,” Cullen said. “And we must dismantle the Red Templars.”

 

“Then anything I say won’t change your mind,” Evelyn tucked her hair behind her ear. “I just have to trust you know your own limits.”

 

His eyes met hers. After his foolishness at Adamant, he was surprised. Even Josephine and Leliana were not voicing any protests. Clearly, they had talked about this prior to meeting him. Would he have trusted himself? Probably not. He looked down at the map. “Let’s get to work then,” he said. 

 

“Oooh, Lady Dorothea is offering the Inquisitor quite a lot of land for his hand in marriage,” Leliana said, reading a letter.

 

“Isn’t she over sixty years old?” Josephine asked. “And very amorous?”

 

“So I hear!” Evelyn grinned, leaning over to read the letter in Leliana’s hand. “I hear her last beau had to walk around with no clothes on--”

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen growled, his face on fire as he snatched the letter and kept it in his stack of documents. “I am not marrying anyone for land nor walking around naked - least of all an old, er, amorous-- C-can we please just get back to work?”

 

++++

 

They adjourned the meeting at dinner time. Cullen was starving, but there was much to do. As much as he liked the day off, he had to admit, there was a certain joy to being busy. The mark was behaving, plans were progressing. They had defeated Corypheus twice now and Erimond’s head was Cullen’s contribution to the decor of the keep, along with Evelyn’s embarrassingly ostentatious lion statues. There were reports for him to read, which he had left on the War Table. He really needed a proper office without servants and messengers traipsing into his private quarters. But Inquisitors weren’t supposed to do paperwork, which he actually enjoyed. And so he had no office. He set up shop in the War Room instead. 

 

Once he had his meal of bread and sweet meats on a covered plate - eating meat daily being one of the best perks of being Inquisitor - he headed back to the War Room through the mostly quiet keep. The evening sun stained the keep golden and red. His footsteps stilled as he climbed the steps to the main hall, taking in the view. Skyhold was beautiful. He looked up at the corner tower, golden in the light of the setting sun, and tried to imagine a red lion up there, in basalt and bloodstone. He had chosen the fur of the Ferelden red lion because stories of the beast had terrified him as a child, filled him with a kind of awe and fear. Once he was free of the Templars, it was one of the clearer things he could really remember of himself before joining the Order. Hence, the red lion adornments on his armour.

 

If anyone had told him his red lions would soon stand atop a keep in the mountains, snarling out at the world, he’d have laughed at them. As it was… it was actually happening. That Evelyn… What strange turns her mind took. If they defeated Corypheus, what then? What would happen to this keep? To all of them, to the Inquisition? He turned and walked into the main hall. “What would happen to us?” he murmured. 

 

“To whom?”

 

Cullen looked up, seeing Varric at the table by the fire he permanently occupied as part office, part living quarters. “What?” Cullen blinked. He glanced away in embarrassment. “Nothing. I was just-- talking to myself.”

 

“Working through dinner again, Curly? That’s unhealthy, you know,” Varric said. 

 

“I’ve got reports to catch up on,” he said, glad Varric wasn’t prying. “What are you doing?”

 

“Writing letters,” Varric replied, gesturing to the papers scattered on the table before him with a quill in hand. “Carver should know Hawke’s alright. Aveline, too.” Varric gestured for him to take a seat and poured him a cup of dwarven ale from the cask he perpetually had beside him.

 

Cullen smiled faintly as he sat himself down at the table. “Ah, Aveline,” he sighed, pulling off his gloves and starting to eat his meal. “How are she and Donnic?”

 

“Happy, got a baby on the way, despite her saying he’d have to fart a kid out his arse if he wanted a child.”

 

Cullen snorted at that. Children. There’s a thought. Maker, he didn’t think he’d ever get to a point where he was thinking about this sort of future. “I’m happy for them.”

 

“Their kid will be some sort of killing machine, I’ll give them that,” Varric sighed. “Yours too, I imagine.”

 

Cullen stared at the dwarf. Was Varric reading his mind? “What?”

 

“You and Giggles would probably breed the ultimate Templar or something.”

 

“I would not like my child to be a Templar. And why Giggles? You never told me.”

 

“Because when she’s drunk, she giggles over everything. Everything. Say the word ‘cucumber’ and she’d break out laughing into her brandy.”

 

Cullen laughed. “I’d like to see that one day.”

 

“Wouldn’t be too hard. Just buy her a drink or nine.”

 

“Too obvious,” Cullen chuckled. “It has to be organic, natural. ‘Evie, have a drink or nine, I want to see you giggle’ is a little forward, don’t you think?” His eye travelled to a letter on the table. This one was signed with a strange name.

 

“Curly, take it from me. You have a woman willing to put up with that scowl of yours and apparently likes it, hang on to her.”

 

“Who’s Bianca?” Cullen asked. He felt the air suddenly thicken. He glanced at Varric, gathering his papers, the letter with the name shuffled in the stack. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Cullen added quickly. “I just saw the name, it’s--”

 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Varric said. He sighed in resignation and pulled out the letter from the stack. “Yeah, an old friend of mine sent me some information. I didn’t want to talk to you about it until I met her but, since you brought it up… she’s gotten some information on Red Lyrium. After the mess at Kirkwall, I asked around and sent some people samples to investigate the red stuff.”

 

“How?” Cullen asked. “We had Meredith’s body and sword under lockdown for years. Where did you get samples.”

 

“Er…” 

 

Cullen glared at him. “Varric… you had some red lyrium, didn’t you? I would have known about it if you snuck by and chipped a finger off Meredith or something.”

 

“Well, you know, that’s not really important,” Varric waved aside the question. “The point is, Bianca’s one of the people who helped me investigate. Bright girl from the Smith Caste. If you’d like to look into this, I could arrange a meeting so she can share what she’s found.”

 

“You don’t even need to ask,” Cullen said. “We need all the information on the stuff as we can get. Arrange a meeting, Varric.”

 

“Right, Curly. I’ll add that to the list.” 

 

Cullen asked no further questions of Bianca. When you have a crossbow named Bianca and an old friend of the same name, there was bound to be touchy history. “When’s the new book coming out, Varric?” he asked, changing the subject. 

 

“Which? Harding in Hightown?” Varric looked almost grateful. He tucked away the letter with his documents.

 

“No,” Cullen smiled. “The other one. That horri-- the romance one. Swords and Shields.”

 

“Ugh, that one. It’ll be a long time coming. The last one didn’t even sell enough to pay for the ink.”

 

Cullen thought of Cassandra. She did come out into the desert to drag him back. That deserved a little token of thanks. “You should continue it.”

 

“Why?”

 

“There may be fans.”

 

“Really?” Varric laughed. “You?”

 

“No… someone I know. A lady.”

 

“Can’t be Giggles. She could be the star of her own weird ass, sadistic series.” 

 

“That’s actually true.”

 

“I’m not writing it till you tell me who my loyal fan is.”

 

“Come now, dwarf, just write the book.”

 

“Those are my terms, Curly.”

 

Cullen stared at him thoughtfully as he chewed. “Maybe it would benefit you too. It would be nice if you both stop acting coldly towards each other.”

 

“Oh? Now I got to know who it is.”

 

Cullen pushed away his empty plate and wiped his fingers with a linen handkerchief. “Alright,” he said slowly. “It’s Cassandra.”

 

Cullen took a long drink of the ale. It was rather nice. He looked up at Varric, who was staring at him with papers in hand. The dwarf laughed. “I think I heard you wrong. Did you just say Cassandra - tall, grumpy Seeker, likes stabbing things - liked my books?”

 

“Of course. I got her the last chapter of Swords and Shields myself.” Cullen held the cup up to the firelight to admire the ale’s colour, as if he knew what he was doing. 

 

A slow grin was spreading across Varric’s face. “So… you want me to continue the worst  serial I have… for Cassandra…” He laughed once more, a wicked grin coming to his face. “That’s such a terrible idea! I have to do it - on one condition: I have to be there when you give it to her.”

 

Cullen chuckled and shook his head. “Fine,” he said. “But make it good. Or cheesy or… something. Romantic.”

 

“Really? It’s like I died and found myself in heaven,” Varric laughed.

 

“Keep me posted,” Cullen grinned as he drained the cup of ale. “Good ale. Later, Varric!” 

 

He stood up, gathering his empty plate. A servant girl approached him, bowing as she held her hands out for the plate. She blushed rosily when he smiled his thanks at her, passing her the plate to return to the kitchens. That, at least, he was used to. Serving girls were always giving him these looks, even in Kirkwall. There were times when he had taken advantage of it, when times were dark for him and no other balm seemed to soothe. That’s why… With Evelyn… it had to mean more than a hungry roll. He rubbed his neck as he walked, anxiety and uncertainty knotting in his stomach. How could he tell her? What would she say? She felt for him, surely. But… how serious was she? He was musing on this as he opened the door to the War Room. 

 

He blinked, seeing Cassandra leaning over the War Table, standing in the golden sunset light that lanced in through the open stained glass windows, breeze fluttering the papers lightly on the War Table. “Cassandra,” he smiled. 

 

She looked up at him, holding a frighteningly familiar letter. “So, old Lady Dorothea?” she smirked, holding the letter. His stomach sank as he strode over to her. “Did you know her last lover was made to walk around--”

 

He snatched the letter from her hand. “Naked, I heard,” he growled, tearing the letter into shreds. 

 

“You might want to reconsider,” Cassandra grinned at him. 

 

“Blessed Andraste, you know that’s not how it is!” He threw the letter into the brazier where it burned with a satisfying crackle. He looked at her, the maps spread out before her. “What are you doing here? Planning troop movements?”

 

She sighed. “I was... trying to imagine what this would all look like when we we’re done,” she said, gesturing to the map. “All this once belonged to the Tevinter Imperium. Then Andraste and the Blight changed all that.” She leaned her hands on the table. “As for what will come next, I cannot guess the Maker’s plan.”

 

“And you paused this pondering to look at that stupid letter?” Cullen asked. 

 

She chuckled. “Well, my curiosity was piqued.”

 

“I can tell.” He looked down at the map as he stood beside her, his hands on the pommel of his sword. “As for the world, I suppose we just try to make it a better place.”

 

“Because everyone agrees on that ‘better’ means,” she said, straightening up. 

 

“Cynic.”

 

“I know I want a world where people trust the Chantry, and that trust is respected. I want to respect tradition, but not fear change. I want to right past wrongs, but not avenge them. And I have no idea if my wanting any of these things makes any of them right.” 

 

“An idealistic cynic,” Cullen smiled as he watched her, her face framed by golden light. He was filled with respect for the woman. It felt like he was looking at the face of the future. If only she were Divine… “That does not change the fact that your desires are noble.”

 

“Some would disagree,” she smiled faintly. “They would call it heresy.”

 

“That sounds nothing like the heresy I’ve heard; and you hear a lot as a Templar - sometimes from other Templars.” 

 

“Perhaps not,” she sighed softly. “But it takes precious little to paint even an act of compassion as damaging.”

 

“That’s also true,” Cullen murmured. 

 

She turned her dark eyes on him. She was troubled. “Tell me,” she said softly as she walked to a window, leaning against the stone wall. “What guides you?”

 

Cullen’s brow furrowed uncertainly at the question. He moved to join her. 

 

“You make decisions that shake the world, after all,” she went on. “Yet, you always seem so assured. I wish I had your confidence.”

 

Cullen chuckled. “Confidence?” he smiled. “Cassandra… I’m confident at that moment, but of the future? Far from it. Honestly, I find you far more self-assured than I am. Or, maybe we are similar in the way we make decisions in the moment and second-guess ourselves later.”

 

“Great minds think alike then?” she smiled.

 

“Or all idiocy looks the same,” he smirked. 

 

She laughed, her mood seeming to lift. “If when we first met, someone told me I would be happy to have you lead me, I would have laughed in their faces,” she said.

 

“You wound me. I might not have laughed at all.”

 

“That is true. You were very grim.”

 

“I was more certain, in a sense,” he admitted. “Things were simpler in Kirkwall as Knight Commander. I did what had to be done. Lyrium helped.”

 

“And yet here you are, Inquisitor,” she smiled at him. “I am happy you are with us. The Maker chose well.”

 

He smiled as he sighed, feeling pleased and foolish all at the same time. “Even after you’ve not seen me at my best?”

 

“The Maker does not make mistakes,” Cassandra said, her voice ringing with faith. 

 

“I hope you’re right,” he said, genuinely grateful for her. He clasped her shoulder. “You are a true friend, Cassandra. I’m glad you sought me out in Kirkwall.” The book from Varric was too small a gift for what she did for him. 

 

“I should hope you think so,” she said sternly. 

 

He laughed at that. She reminded him so much of Mia sometimes. He really should write home. Speaking of writing… “Has the Champion been in contact?” he asked.

 

“He has sent updates,” she said, an unmistakable tinge coming to her cheeks as she headed back to the table, her back to him. 

 

“Has he now?” Cullen smiled and dropped the subject. Good to know Hawke wasn’t letting a good thing slip him by. “What are you really here for, Cassandra?” he asked curiously as she bent over the map again. “Surely you didn’t come here just to introspect.”

 

She sighed then. “I can keep staring at this map, but it won’t get any closer.”

 

He leaned his hands on the table, looking over the map with her. “Oh, I don’t know, if we keep banging our heads against the problem, we might come up with a solution.”

 

She laughed. “We are unfortunately stubborn, aren’t we?” 

 

“Job hazard of working for the Chantry, I expect,” he smiled up at her. “Now what are we looking for?”

 

“Seekers.” 

 

“Ah.”

 

“We saw so many Red Templars among the Venatori at the assault on Haven,” she said. “And even at Therinfal, where they had gathered. For all the Red Templar’s numbers, not a single Seeker was amongst them. Not even Lord Seeker Lucius, nor his body. Indeed, I’ve seen no hint of any Seekers, not among the Red Templars or anywhere.” She met his gaze, her eyes hard. “I have a growing suspicion Corypheus has imprisoned them.”

 

His expression turned serious. “Or…”

 

“They may also be dead, yes.”

 

“Then again, a demon like Envy does not kill whomever it replaces: it hides them away and learns.”

 

“Exactly. There must be a trail we can follow, yet so far I’ve only discovered hints.”

 

“As I understand it, Seekers utilize similar techniques as Templars, yet require no lyrium. You said so yourself. Could they also have been corrupted just as the Templars were?”

 

“I assume that Corypheus gained control of some of the Templars by corrupting the lyrium they were already taking. To do the same to a Seeker, you’d have to force the lyrium upon him.” She frowned as she turned her eyes to the map. “That may be what happened, but it couldn’t have begun that way.” She sighed heavily. “I left the order, but I cannot abandon them. But I cannot even claim that rescuing them would be beneficial - they would not look kindly on the Inquisition. But even so, if there’s a chance...”

 

“Whatever leads you have, forward them to Leliana, Josephine and Evelyn,” Cullen said. “Perhaps they may be able to follow up on these leads with their agents and find new information for us.”

 

She smiled gratefully as they straightened up from the table. “Thank you, Cullen.” She set her hand on her hip. “Did you know Evelyn is planning lion statues on the battlements?”

 

Cullen sighed as he gathered his documents to bring back to his quarters. “I know,” he said. 

 

“I think they are fitting,” she said. 

 

That was praise, coming from her, he knew. He smiled up at her. “As long as it’s not my face up there, I’m fine.”

 

“Perhaps a statue for the courtyard--”

  
“Don’t. Even. Start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed for now! Character development! Get all the personal quests!


	30. Tremors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on two consecutive days?! Maker be praised!

It was still dark when Cullen’s eyes opened wide in his quarters. His door had slammed open. He sat up as footsteps ran up the stairs, his hand reaching for his sword by his bedside. Rufus appeared breathlessly, still donned in his Inquisition uniform. “Inquisitor!” Rufus gasped, breathless from his run and holding an empty water basin in his hands. “Ser, it’s the Comm--”

 

“What’s wrong with her?” Cullen asked, swinging his legs out of bed and pulling on his boots. 

 

“Another fit,” the boy gulped for air. “She stopped shaking. I cradled her head like you said. She’s come out of it. Um. She’s very angry.”

 

“Lyrium?”

 

“Yes, ser. Although she did have a few drinks to calm her nerves. I-I don’t think it worked.”

 

“You should have called me earlier,” Cullen said, lacing up his boots, working the knots as quickly as he could, the sleeves of his tunic fluttering about his wrists. She had been working herself ragged for days preparing for his expedition into the Emprise. 

 

“She didn’t want me to,” Rufus said helplessly. “She doesn’t know I’m here. I’m supposed to be emptying the water basin.” 

 

Cullen’s jaw tensed. She was trying to do this on her own. Again. He stood up, boots laced at last and headed down the stairs with Rufus following him. “Get the water like you were supposed to,” Cullen said, striding out the door and into the main hall, his boots echoing in the darkness. The guards straightened, saluting him as he passed. 

 

“Inquisitor,” Rufus said and ran off to the well in the lower courtyard. Cullen entered the rotunda then out onto the bridge. Skyhold was quiet, only the singing of the crickets filled the air, the keep illuminated silver by the moon. The chill bit his skin, but he crossed the bridge, heading for Evelyn’s office. The window of her loft was lit, her door slightly ajar let out a sliver of lamp light onto the bridge. He opened it, finding her office empty. She’d made it to her loft at least. His hands and feet on the wooden ladder sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet keep. He poked his head up above the floor. Evelyn was curled in a corner, her hair in disarray, donned in nothing but a tunic. “Maker’s breath,” Cullen breathed, his heart in his throat with worry. 

 

She glanced up at him and groaned, turning her head away from him, her hair hiding her face. “Maker, no… Go away!”

 

He climbed up and went to her. “Evie,” he breathed, reaching for her. She pushed his hand away, her skin on her bare legs pale and bruised. Cullen swallowed his first primal thoughts at the sight of her legs. He was no animal, she needed help, he couldn’t be thinking about stupid things right now. 

 

“Go away,” she begged, her voice cracking. She hid her face with one shaking arm. “I don’t want you to see me.”

 

“Evelyn, please,” he said, swallowing the panic. It was fine. It was just-- he’d been here before the mark. He knew what she was going through. Some nights were worse than others. He took her wrist. “Eve-”

 

His palm slapped her other wrist as he caught it, the strike coming hard and fast as she fought against his grip. He realized in slight horror that her push was frighteningly strong for such a short woman. “Stop it, Eve, just calm down,” he whispered over her breath pulled through her teeth. 

 

“I don’t want you to see me!” she cried, looking up at him, one blue eye visible through the locks of hair. She pushed against his arms. Cullen grunted as he resisted the push, his muscles bunching as he used his mass to hold her, her arms crossed over her chest, two curvaceous breasts moving… under that tunic - Maker… The white tape she wore hid a lot!

 

Cullen heard Evelyn’s office door open. “Inquisitor?” Rufus called from the office below. 

 

“Leave it by the ladder and you’re dismissed!” Cullen shouted down. 

 

Evelyn’s eye blazed beneath her hair. “I told you to go away, Cullen,” she breathed, his arms inexorably pushed back. She snarled and moved faster than he anticipated, her leg sweeping out behind his knee, her arms tipping him over. His head hit the floor as she grappled him to the ground. 

 

“I-inquisitor?” Rufus called up uncertainly at the sound as lights flashed in Cullen’s eyes.

 

Evelyn straddled him, pinning his arms to his chest now. He glanced down, his eyes catching her chest through the neck of her tunic, the smooth columns of her thighs on either side of his waist. 

 

“Should I c-come up?” Rufus asked, his voice sounding nearer to the ladder.

 

“Dismissed!” Cullen shouted, barely keeping his voice from squeaking. He heard Rufus shut the office door hurriedly. The last thing he wanted was for Rufus to climb the ladder and see them like this. 

 

“Eve-” he grunted, forcing his arms apart on his chest as she fought to keep them pinned. She was looking down blearily at him, her eyes ringed and dark, her tousled hair framing her face. 

 

“When does it stop hurting?” she whispered suddenly, her eyes losing the fire, now vulnerable.

 

Cullen blinked, his arms going limp in her grasp, her words echoing in his mind. Her hands pressed his down to his chest. “E--” She kissed him, hard, breathing deeply of him. The taste of wine still lingering on her tongue, filling his universe, erasing all thought in his head. Her hands let go of his arms and he embraced her, gripping her shoulder from behind, his fingers entwining in her hair as he took her lips as hungrily as she was. Her body pressed against him, hips grinding into his as his own rolled up to meet her. His hand found her breast, squeezing it through her tunic, her nipple already perked. She moaned into his lips, guttural, fiery, passionate. Sweet Maker, it was like being drunk, if one could be drunk on a person. Her nails raked his stubble, his collarbone, closing on the unlaced neck of his tunic. The sound of ripping brought him to his senses. 

 

His eyes shot open. “Wait-” he growled against her lips, his voice hoarse with desire. He let go of her breast and caught her wrist at his tunic. Her hand still trembled from the lyrium withdrawal. What was he doing?! 

 

“No,” she bit his lip. Her hands tugged hard at his tunic. Another rip from the neck. He caught her other wrist. A heated moan escaped his lips as she bit his neck hard, the smell of her hair washing over him as the locks brushed his face, bare hips rubbing against his length through his breeches. He rolled his hips against her, his breeches wet from her grinding. 

 

He wanted this. He hungered for her, thought of her in the silence of the night, pondered her moans and the feel of her skin-- She was actually in pain! He grit his teeth, wishing, wanting, yearning - to taste her, feel her nails on his skin as he sank into the heat of her body - to take what he wanted. Maker, give him strength...

 

He growled and rolled her over on to her back, his body coming on top of hers, her hands pinned to the floor on either side of her head. He held his body off her as he caught his breath, his heart pounding in his ears, feeling the heat from his cheeks to his crotch. “Fuck…” he snarled, hovering over her uncertainly. The smell of her desire was strong in the air. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

 

“Yes, please,” she breathed, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist. Her tunic gathered up near her navel, exposing the dark fuzz on her mound.  _ Yes, please… _ He averted his eyes, lifting his knee to move one leg off his hip, pinning down her thigh. “Stop!”

 

His voice was harsher than he anticipated. She stilled under him, her face flushed and chest heaving. “Why?” her voice quivered. He looked at her face, flushed and red, making the rings under her eyes darker. Her lips red and parted, the corner of her mouth bruising already. But her eyes were glazed, uncertain. “It hurts less when you kiss me.”

 

“It can’t be like this,” he growled, shaking his head, breathing hard. 

 

“But I want you!”

 

“Not like this,” he bit his lip and looked at her, willing himself to calm down, though his breeches strained. Even in her lyrium-withdrawal addled state, she… made love with passion, with fire. Fuck… He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Not like this, Eve,” he breathed again. “Maker’s balls, I fucking want to - you’ve no idea how much I want you--” His mark started to burn. He clenched her wrist tighter, glaring at his hand, almost daring it to spark. It didn’t.

 

“What are you waiting for?” she growled, her voice pleading. 

 

“For when you’re not sick,” his voice shook with suppressed desire. 

 

“Why?” she cried. 

 

“B-because I lo--” His stomach knotted in anxiety, “--I care about you! I don’t want it to be like this.” The way it had always been in the past, when elven maids so readily came to his bed. They hungered, so did he. The sex was empty. He sent them away come the dawn. What a bastard he was… But Evelyn, she wasn’t in her right mind. He couldn’t take advantage of her. 

 

“But it hurts less when you kiss me,” she whimpered. “It hurts less when you’re with me.”

 

“I’ll stay with you,” he promised. “But we can’t… do this, Eve. You’re not thinking straight, and you know it.”

 

She looked up at him, her eyes like blue pools as she teared. As blue as the lake under the summer sky, he mused. He felt his resolve harden. She slid her other leg off his waist. Tentatively, he pulled her up as he moved off her, seating her on the floor. She climbed onto his lap, hugging him, clinging to him with shaking arms. His jaw tensed, but he embraced her chastely. All the mistakes he’d made in the past, he would do right by her. 

 

“I don’t want to sleep,” she whispered against his neck, her tears on his skin. “I hear… babies crying.”

 

Cullen shut his eyes, his heart bleeding as he remembered her nightmare at Adamant. He pulled back, her face streaked with tears, hands gripping his torn tunic trembling with the tremors of the withdrawal. “Let’s just get to the bed,” he murmured, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She nodded slightly. He slipped his arm under her knees and lifted her up. He became aware that the back of his head was a blooming flower of pain. 

 

He lay her on the bed and draped the covers over her. She still hung on to him, her eyes pleading as he moved to let go of her. “Lie down with me,” she murmured. 

 

He swallowed. He could do this. He could be strong for this. For her. He nodded. 

 

Cullen took a moment to blow out the candle in her room, plunging the room into darkness. He could feel her eyes on him as he moved. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. She made room for him as he got under the covers and lay stiffly on his back, his body aching for relief which he so vehemently denied it. The pain in the back of his head helped keep him grounded. 

 

He turned on his pillow. Evelyn was curled up, shaking, her breath coming in hisses as she fought the tremors. He reached out as he turned on his side, pulling her closer to him, holding her in his arms. “The pain will go away, Eve,” he whispered, kissing her hair. “Just endure it. You can.”

 

She looked up at him, her eyes glinting in the moonlight that streamed in through the embrasure windows. She touched his cheek with a shaking hand and curled up closer against him. There they lay, long into the night, till sleep claimed them both. 

 

++++

 

Cullen opened a crusty eye, blinking blearily. It was morning, pillars of sunlight cast across the floor through the windows. His eyes focused on Evelyn, curled in his arms her legs entwined with his. Maker’s breath, last night had been… a wonderful, terrifying nightmare. He could feel the ghostly sensations of her body against his. He definitely needed a roll in the snow later - or a cold bath at least. For now, his stomach growled. He remembered the hunger in the mornings after lyrium sickness. Apparently, all that shaking really took it out of you, making you famished after. Some food for her when she woke would be good. Some food for him too. 

 

He carefully lifted her arms and legs off him as he sat up, careful not to wake her. Her legs refused to budge from around his, her arm draped around his waist. With a hiss, he touched the back of his head. There was a lump there. A faint sense of pride rose in him at how she’d totally thrown him. She was a good fighter. There were voices down in her office when the door opened. “I don’t think she’s risen yet,” he heard Rufus’s voice over the others.

 

“That is immaterial!” he heard Josephine. Hands were on the ladder. Cullen gasped, reaching under the sheets to untangle her legs from his. “The matter is urgent enough to-- Oh!”

 

Her head appeared at the top of the ladder. Cullen froze, the look of guilt as clear as day on his face. He glanced down at his ripped tunic, torn almost to the stomach. He grabbed it, holding it closed. 

 

“J-Josephine!” he fumbled under the blanket, pulling Evelyn’s leg off his. She groaned and kicked away the blanket, sitting up slowly, her hair like a dark thundercloud, tunic falling off one shoulder. She blinked at him blearily, one bare leg clearly visible and bent at the knee. 

 

“Please excuse me,” Josephine giggled. “I’ll leave you to your… business.” Her head disappeared down the ladder. 

 

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen groaned, burying his face in his palm as he sank back down onto the pillow. The bump on the back of his head bloomed with pain. “Argh.” He was never going to hear the end of this. Cullen was sure Josephine was running off to tell Leliana about this at that very moment. Evelyn lay back down on her side, clearly not awake properly. Her arm flopped out over his face. He cast her a sidelong glance. The woman who had nearly driven him crazy with desire the night before was snoring into her pillow now. That was hardly romantic, he noted as he moved her arm off his face and sat up once more.

 

He smiled then. But at least it was real. He needed reality right then. He held her wrist, seeing the bruise there, shades of black and blue forming a clear hand mark. He had gripped her too hard when the mark threatened to flare last night...

 

“Um-- Inquisitor?” Rufus called up hesitantly. 

 

“Don’t come up!” Cullen cried, startled, stretching his hand out to the ladder. The mark blazed awake, fire dancing like a frolicking puppy. He closed his fist and held his wrist. “Don’t you start!” he hissed at the mark.  The mark flickered out with a sullen final spurt of fire. 

 

“Yes ser!” Cullen could practically hear the salute in the boy’s voice. “I was just - do you need anything?”

 

Cullen let out a sigh. “Some food, Rufus. And a new tunic from my quarters.”

 

“Did… the Commander throw up?”

 

Cullen glanced at Evelyn, her snore reverberating. “Not… precisely,” he replied. 

 

“I’ll leave the wash basin up there, shall I?” Rufus called. “I won’t come up!”

 

“Thank you, Rufus,” Cullen replied. Hands climbed the ladder and the wash basin of water was carefully slid onto the floor before Rufus descended the ladder. There went a good and reliable batman, Cullen thought. 

 

He swung his legs off the bed, leaving Evelyn to her sleep. As he pulled on his boots, he finally took in the room around him. There was a couch up here, books piled around it. She had her armour stand in the corner, her sword hung from a wall rack. At the other side of her bed was a chest of drawers with a bronzed mirror mounted on the wall above it. Overhead, the ceiling was low, freshly patched from where it must have opened to the sky before. It was a little too low for Cullen’s taste. He tied his lace knot and moved on to the other boot, wondering if she ever felt closed in with the ceiling so low. Probably not. She was pretty short. He resolutely did not think about the night before. Tie the laces. Good. Rabbit ears, over and under and such.

 

He stood and went to wash up with the basin, the water warm and refreshing on his face. He blinked as he looked at himself in her bronzed mirror. His lip was bruised from where she bit it... Maker’s breath. There was a distinctly telling bruise on his neck as well. “Andraste preserve me,” he muttered, touching the bruise on his neck. Maybe they had been too rough last night. He would have to tone it down, next time.  _ But you loved every minute of it _ , a treacherous voice sounded in his head. He looked down at the tear in his tunic. Yes. He had. 

 

He heard the office door open. “Ser!” Rufus called. “I have the food.”

 

Cullen bent over the hatch, draping his fingers over the bruise on his neck, just in case. “Leave it on the desk, Rufus,” Cullen called down. “Tell the guards that the Commander is not to be disturbed. And hold all her meetings till past noon.”

 

Rufus looked up at him, bearing a tray of food and a folded tunic. “It’s almost noon, ser,” he said. No wonder Josephine had been in here. They’d both missed the morning War Room meeting...

 

“Past three then.”

 

“Yes, ser!” he said, walking away from the ladder. “Lady Montilyet left some papers for you here as well. They’re on the desk.” Cullen straightened up. Well, things moved on. The world still turned. The memory of last night would warm him for many nights to come. 

 

Once Rufus was gone, he descended the ladder and changed his tunic. He sat at Evelyn’s desk, reading the reports that were meant for him. The smell of food was making his stomach growl, but he decided to wait for Evelyn. It was an hour later when he heard movement upstairs. Finally. He stayed seated, reading the report he held. Eventually, he heard footsteps coming to the ladder. Evelyn descended, wearing breeches and boots, a sash tied around her tunic at the waist. She saw Cullen through the rungs and hissed, wincing as her cheeks colored instantly. For a moment, it looked like she were going to climb right back up. But she didn’t. She sighed instead, sliding down the ladder the rest of the way. 

 

They stared at each other, awkwardness blooming. “Er…” he fumbled, blushing stupidly. 

 

Evelyn looked away, rubbing her arm. “I… I remember things,” she muttered. “D-did we--”

 

“No!” Cullen exclaimed. “We - we didn’t! I mean - er--”

 

Evelyn sighed heavily. Did I really throw you to the ground?” she asked. 

 

Cullen touched the back of his head. “Yes.”

 

“Did we really, um…” She snapped her fingers repeatedly, looking for an acceptable word. 

 

“Tussle?” Cullen supplied. 

 

“Yes!” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Evelyn buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Oh Maker…” she ran her hands through her hair. “Alcohol and lyrium sickness are a terrible combination…”

 

“I could have told you that. Please don’t try to buffer the sickness with alcohol, Evelyn,” he said, putting down the report. 

 

“It seemed a good idea at the time,” she sighed, sheepishly scratching her cheek. 

 

“Let’s just eat,” he went on, gesturing to the other chair at the desk. 

 

Evelyn smiled gratefully and sat down, avoiding his eyes, tearing the bread with her fingers. Cullen started to eat as well. For a moment, they sat in silence next to each other, not knowing what to say, afraid that a word wrong might shatter the world to pieces. Cullen tried not to wince as the bruise on his lip stung when he bit food. 

 

Evelyn, though, did, touching her lip as she chewed. She looked at him as realization dawned, both of them stilling. Cullen started to laugh first, Evelyn’s giggles soon joined his as they both chuckled into their plates. “I’m sorry about that,” she said sincerely. “I must have been a little… over excited. And for the neck.”

 

“And the head,” he added. “You know your way around a grapple.”

 

She smiled in embarrassment. “You should know I wasn’t the only one getting too excited.” She held up her left wrist.

 

“I’m sorry about your wrist,” he said contritely. 

 

“And…? That’s not all you grabbed.”

 

Cullen stared at her, then at her chest, then the fires started in his cheeks. “I-I--”

 

She reached out and pat his hand. “It’s alright,” she smiled gently. “Thank you.”

 

His mouth opened and closed. “For bruising your--”

 

“ _ No,  _ Cullen!” She rolled her eyes. She picked at her food. “Let’s just say, this story would have ended very differently if you were someone like Markham.” Cullen stared at her as her blue eyes met his, her lips curling into a smile. “I’m happy you’re not like him.”

 

A slow smile crept across his face. He lifted his cup of tea to his lips, happiness at her simple praise effervescent in his stomach. 

 

“Just don’t grab my boob so hard next time.”

 

Cullen sputtered into the tea, the cup jerking against the bruise on his lip. “Argh!” 

 

She laughed and reached across to gently wipe his lip with a napkin. “Next time?” Cullen chuckled, taking her hand with the napkin in his.

 

She grinned. “Of course! You know, whenever you feel it’s right.”  

 

He smirked at her, leaning his elbow on the table and bringing her knuckle to his lip, kissing it despite the sting. She arched her shoulders girlishly, blushing to the roots of her hair. 

 

The door to the rotunda burst open. Their heads whipped around to stare at the shadow of the figure there. “Oh, my word,” Dorian cooed from the door. 

 

“Dorian!” Cullen snapped, Evelyn yanking her hand from his. 

 

“How remiss of me!” The leer in his voice was as thick as treacle. “Barging in here like that, where are my manners? I’ll just leave you both to your… business.” He ducked as the balled up napkin flew from Evelyn’s hand and shut the door. 

 

“You did that on purpose!” Cullen shouted after the man. 

 

“I don’t know what you mean, Inquisitor!” Dorian’s voice ghosted back. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, truth be told, I was writing and I just... I just fell in love with this chapter. God, that sounds so arrogant. Honestly, I just felt so much enjoyment writing this whole scene that I had to share the chapter as soon as possible, even though it's not really actually a chapter. Sort of a vignette?
> 
> Regardless of what it is, I had fun. I was blushing all day writing it, probably because I've not come across a semi-nearly-nsfw-ish piece where Cullen's lover can actually match him physically. So yes. Hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
> 
> Bonus bonus: Lyrium addiction just gave Cullen blue balls HAHAHAHAHAHA I'll go die in a fire now kthxbye.


	31. Letters of the Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A random thing I was inspired to do.

On an in-splotched parchment, written in a scrawled hand with speed in mind,

_Dear Mia,_

_I have been made Inquisitor. Survived the Breach. Strange magical mark on my hand, seems useful so far._

_Your loving brother,_

_Cullen._

 

Written on the back of Inquisitor Cullen’s first parchment, in rounded, flowing writing,

_Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead. Again. And what’s more, we hear you’ve been made Inquisitor? How did that happen? I’m proud and amazed!_

_We've been hearing strange things about the templars lately. I am not sorry you left them. I thought your resignation was implied when you joined the Inquisition, but you meant something more, didn't you?_

_It's a fool's errand asking you to stay safe, but please try._

_Your loving sister, (see how easy this is?)_

_Mia_

 

_Mia,_

_It’s not a special thing. The mark was useful so they asked me to lead. I will serve as the Maker asks of me._

_The Templars are with us, what’s left of them. I am no longer with them. No more lyrium._

_Cullen_

 

_Branson sends his love. He’s concerned about you, but asking you to explain what you’re going through with no lyrium is a silly question to ask, isn’t it? He advises you watch out for excessive palpitations._

_“Tell that idiot to write to me,” he says - with love, of course._

_You may be Inquisitor, but you’re still our brother. Any stories to share? Rosalie’s asking._

_Lots of love,_

_Mia._

 

_Mia,_

_I’m fine. The mark stops most of the symptoms. Tell Branson not to worry._

_Being Inquisitor is ridiculous. Attended some silly ball. Orlesians are foolish, but it’s my job to try to shake some sense into their heads. Apparently._

_Champagne was nice._

_Commander Trevelyan brought along lots of trebuchets. I enjoyed that part. She has sappers in all the way from Jader and oak from the Brescillian Forest. I shared some of my calculations with them. They taught me a thing or two. We had an experiment on the designs of the trebuchets - swing arm or lead counterweight. Lead weights allowed for such a powerful throw with reliable trajectories. Evelyn asked whether I was going to fart money out my arse for over fifty tonnes of lead, but she’s always saying things like that. Josephine started waving budgets in my face and I gave in. Swing arms it is. Turns out swing arms reduce rolling recoil, safer for the teams manning the trebuchets. Also cheaper._

_Send my love to Branson and Ros._

_Love,_

_Cullen_

_PS: I’ve borrowed a bird from Leliana. Please send it back before she finds out I’ve borrowed it._

 

_+++++_

 

_Hawke,_

_You should get here. The world’s gone to shit. Turns out it’s Corypheus behind it all. Cullen’s the Inquisitor - that’s a turn up for the books. He’ll be reasonable. I think._

_I’ve attached a map showing you the pass to Skyhold._

_Varric_

 

_I’ll be there._

_Hawke_

_PS: Cullen as Inquisitor? I’m the Queen of Antiva. Tell me more when we meet._

 

_+++++_

 

Written in a florid hand, parchment uncreased and unsplotched, with the crest of the Inquisition,

_Dearest Eduard,_

_How are you? I hope the Circle continues to treat you well. The charges against you have now been dropped permanently. Markham seems to have met a either a swift end or a long corruption at Therinfal. He’s no longer around. Now, no one knows. You’re free and safe._

_In light of this, I have decided to sever my ties to the Templars. I am Commander of the Inquisition now. I will not be bound to the Order any longer. Please, do not carry the guilt of what I chose to do upon your shoulders. I love you. I would do it again if it meant keeping you safe._

_But now, I must move on. I have a new vision for the future. The Inquisitor is a good man. He turns his face to his new duty, fully and without fear. I must do the same. I am no longer a Knight-Captain, so you must take care of yourself now._

_Stay in Ostwick, brother. I would not wish for you to venture out into this madness._

_All my love,_

_Evelyn Trevelyan_

_Commander_

 

Written on parchment bearing the insignia of the Circle of Ostwick,

_Dearest sister,_

_Words cannot express how happy I am to read your letter. You are free. At last. I regret that it was me who led you down this path, that nothing I said could turn you from it - ah, but we have spoken of that too much already. Let us look to the future._

_Commander of the Inquisition? Mother will be beside herself with pride to hear it. Perhaps she might actually be pleased that you’re not available to wed the Arl Du Grace. Something tells me you won’t wed for other reasons… The Inquisitor is a good man, is he? Such high praise from you, sister!_

_I am happy in the Circle. There is peace and continuity here. The First Enchanter’s magical clinic is always open, and I am happy to serve there. Don’t fret for me. I am four years older than you, after all. I’m a big boy._

_Lots of love,_

_E._

_PS: If you are going to do what I suspect you might, here’s a mixture for a good tincture for headaches and tremors. Ask a proper apothecary to make it for you, please. I wouldn’t trust you to boil water. Also a recipe for a preventative made of witherstalk sap and elfroot. Just in case._

 

_Eduard, honestly! But thank you. The headache tincture is most helpful. I have more use of it than the witherstalk preventative at this point of time. I gave some to Cullen after Halamshiral. The headache tincture, not the witherstalk. He frets over everything and it gives him headaches. I had my first fit last night. The lyrium withdrawals are painful, but I can endure. I refuse to let this kill me._

_Did you know Cullen likes trebuchets? It’s like watching a puppy with a new ball. He’s driving my sappers crazy but I find it utterly adorable. Until he forgets that I have a budget and asks for lead counterweights. Still, utterly adorable._

_If I sound happy, it’s because I am. We head to Adamant soon. I pray all goes well. I’ve done my best._

_All my love,_

_Evelyn Trevelyan_

_Commander_

 

_Sister,_

_Everything will go fine at Adamant. Whatever happens, you can endure. You're too stubborn for death. Think of me when things get crazy, maybe that will help._

_Maker go with you._

_E._

 

_+++++_

 

On a creased scrap of parchment,

_Cullen,_

_I understood barely anything of your last letter, but at least you sound happy. Rosalie asked what they were wearing in Orlais. She demands descriptions._

_Leliana? Josephine? Evelyn? Branson says you’re surrounded by beautiful women. He asks when we should start sending word to the tailor to prepare our clothes for your wedding. I agree with him. Hurry it up. It is war and death out there, I do want you to be happy despite all that._

_Thank you for the money you sent. We put it to use for repairs in Rosalie’s inn. I hope the bird reaches you before Leliana finds out you stole it._

_Love,_

_Mia._

 

_Borrowed, Mia._

_I’m not getting married, yet. Stop prying. I’ve attached some pictures of those silly dresses Orlesian women wear. For Ros, with my love._

_We head to Adamant now. Be well._

_Cullen_

_On the back of the parchment is a poorly sketched Orlesian noblewoman with an overly ornate dress. The words “I can’t eat anything at this party with this stupid mask on” and “Fereldans le merde” are written above her head. An arrow points to the woman with the words, “Do you really want to be her, Ros?”_

 

_+++++_

 

_Dear Mia,_

_I am back from Adamant. It was a trying journey. I don’t want to go into details, but I am home now, in Skyhold. The future is clear to me. My path is laid beneath my feet, I only have to walk it. I find myself thinking of you, Branson and Ros. I am blessed to have such a stubborn sister who seeks me out wherever I may disappear to. It turns out, you are not the only one who would take pains to remind me that I am not alone, however foolish I may be._

_I love you all. Do not forget._

_Your loving brother,_

_Cullen_

_PS: Branson, I need something strong to deal with tremors brought on by Lyrium Sickness. It is not for me, it is for Evelyn. There are nights when she takes a turn for the worse. Anything you can give me to help ease her pain would be most welcome._

 

_Cullen,_

_I do not know what happened at this place, but I am happy you have returned. We love you, brother. You are always in our prayers. Stay safe. I wrote the recipe for Mother’s biscuits that you love. Your kitchen should be able to make it for you. I hope that cheers you up. Ros is still a little sullen from your drawing. You may have ruined a fantasy of hers._

_Branson has send a sheaf of papers to you by messenger. It is too much for the bird to bear. He tells you to look out for it. He hopes it helps Evelyn._

_Here’s some advice from your long-married sister, Cullen. I think it is obvious what is going on between you and the Commander. My advice is: Pull out. Spill on her belly, not in her belly. Watch her cycle. A week before her new blood is best, least chance of a child. You’re Inquisitor now, you can’t be having the Country Boy’s Proposal._

_Love always,_

_Mia_

 

_Mia,_

_We are DONE with this topic._

_I will look out for the messenger. Thank you for the biscuit recipe._

_Cullen._

 

_+++++_

 

_Dear Cassandra,_

_I pray this letter finds you well. I find myself bound in Adamant with Solona and the Gray Wardens. I must admit, the days are longer and more dull without you around. I do miss the sweet sound of your dulcet voice as it tells me to go away. I recall fondly the glint of sunlight on your beautiful eyes as you roll them in my direction and make that cute little disgusted noise._

_I don’t know how to make it any clearer to you, Cassandra, but you do fascinate me. I find you on my thoughts constantly. Maybe I ought to have let you arrest me, after all._

_Sincerest affection,_

_Hawke_

 

_Champion._

_Don’t be ridiculous. You cannot court me. It’s impossible._

_Seeker Cassandra._

_Scribbled on the back in a scrawled hand are the words, “Love poems. Try it.”_

 

_Dearest Cassandra,_

_Is it impossible? I beg to differ._

_Moons may wax and wane, stars may fall from the sky._

_The Maker may call me to lands afar,_

_but nary a step shall my thoughts stray from you._

_Steely eyes belie your gentle heart, Cassandra,_

_I know the yearnings that beat within your breast._

_Let me try, at very least, to sooth the furrow from your brow,_

_my lips to still your troubled sigh._

_Hawke._

 

_Champion,_

_Keep writing._

_Cassandra._

 

_C,_

_It worked._

_H._

 

_H,_

_I have no idea what you mean._

_C._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this count as a chapter or a drabble? Whatever. I enjoyed writing it. On to more proper plot after this!


	32. Moira's Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed and NSFW. You have been warned.

The Emprise was a vision in white. Ancient elven ruins rose over the snow-shrouded landscape that rose to the mountains. Backed up against the Frostbacks, the Emprise caught the snows coming out of Ferelden. It was a valuable trade route between Ferelden and Orlais with rich deposits of minerals of its own, now sadly locked in the grip of a vicious cold spell. The river had frozen over, the roads snowed in. Cullen looked out over the expanse of snow. More like  _ Emprise du Neige _ , or something like that - he was never good at Orlesian. 

 

He adjusted his scarf, around his neck. Fur wasn’t enough. He was wearing an extra padded tunic, but still it was bloody cold. Dorian was not taking the weather well, swearing constantly in Tevinter. 

 

“I didn’t bring you here for a soliloquy, Dorian,” Cullen told the mage. 

 

“No, you brought me here to freeze to death, apparently,” Dorian said heatedly, warming his hands with a fiery glow.

 

“Such a hot temper,” Cullen smiled. “Perhaps it’s better if you cool off.”

 

“Was that a joke, Inquisitor?” Dorian asked, his mustache curled down in disgust. He smirked then. “Did the Commander write that one down for you?”

 

Cullen gave Dorian a disgusted look. 

 

“Did she knit the scarf for you too?” Varric asked, shouldering Bianca. He gave Cullen a knowing look. “Why the scarf Curly?” Varric winked at him. 

 

“In case Dorian didn’t say it enough, it is very cold, dwarf,” Cullen muttered. He wanted to hit Varric. The bruise on his neck was fading, but it couldn’t fade fast enough. 

 

“Hickey or no hickey, could you be more Fereldan in your taste in scarves? Red plaid?” Dorian sighed mournfully. 

 

“Wanting, wishing yearning - to taste her, to feel her nails on my skin as I sink int--” 

 

Cullen’s hand shot out, covering Cole’s mouth. The boy blinked up at him innocently from under the rim of his huge hat. Cullen’s face was burning by now. He had totally forgotten that the boy was with them. Varric and Dorian were smirking insufferably now.

 

“Leave him alone,” Cassandra grinned as she tightened the clasp of her sword at her belt. “It is not often he gets to enjoy such delightful bruises.”

 

“If we could focus!” Cullen snapped sharply, cursing the heat in his cheeks and their stupid grins. “We have Red Templars to fight. Try to keep your distance, aim for the eyes if you can. If they start shooting red lyrium, you want to scrap that stuff off as quickly as possible. It will cause problems if it gets in your blood. But first, we need to assess Sahrnia.”

 

“His authoritative voice always gives me tingles,” Dorian grinned. 

 

“Careful, Sparkles. I don’t think Giggles likes to share.”

 

Cassandra burst out laughing. 

 

Cullen turned his back on them, his face like a thundercloud. These stupid jokes had been following him since the day Evelyn had her last bout of lyrium sickness. Evie laughed along like it was hilarious. Cullen didn’t find it so funny. It was utterly embarrassing how quickly word had spread that he had woken up way past dawn in the Commander’s quarters. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of that night, since then. Evelyn had brought it up the night before he left for the Emprise. “I want you to know you had your hand on my breast, your tongue in my throat and was separated from me by a single piece of fabric,” she had said as they cuddled on the couch after dinner. 

 

“What’s that got to do with the Emprise?” he looked up from the book he held, his cheeks getting hot, his loins stirring at the memory.  

 

“Remember that when the red song becomes too loud,” she murmured, her head on his chest. “Or when things get dark. And make sure you come back to me.”

 

He felt her hand grip his tunic. He stroked her ear lightly. “I’d rather remember this,” he murmured. 

 

She turned to look at him, a fleeting look of surprise crossing her features before the smiled wryly. “Smooth-talker,” she said, touching his stubble with a slender finger. 

 

He chuckled. “Once in a while.” And they had kissed, a gentleness in her coming forth when her guard was down. It was things like that that made him certain of her feelings for him, Cullen mused as they walked through the thick snow, their feet sinking into the white powder. Yet, every time he tried to talk about it, even since that night, his stomach knotted and the words died in his throat. Stupid man. 

 

He wished the others would stop teasing him about this. But hoping for Varric and Dorian not to make off-colour jokes was like hoping the sun would not rise. Fish swam, birds flew, Varric and Dorian made off-colour jokes. Even Cassandra had joined in! He was utterly disappointed in her.  

 

Bull came out of the tent he shared with Dorian then. “You sure you don’t need another hand, Boss?” the big Qunari asked. Taking Dorian on expeditions always came with a bonus Qunari, these days, it seemed. 

 

“Not in the field,” Cullen replied. “Or at least, I do not anticipate much resistance at this time. Besides, I need you and the Chargers here to monitor the situation until the others arrive.”

 

“That damn sudden blizzard in the mountains really fucked up that supply line,” Bull growled. 

 

“Yes, unfortunately,” Cullen sighed. The trip through the Frostbacks had been arduous, with Blackwall and the others bogged down in a sudden blizzard. They had only been half a day behind them in the caravan too, when the weather suddenly turned. “I’m sure once the blizzard clears, the rest of them will join us. Keep an eye out for crows. Leliana will be keeping in touch.”

 

“Right,” Bull said. He glanced at Dorian, then turned back to Cullen. “If you need me and my boys, send up a flare. Dorian knows how to do it. We’ll come running.”

 

“Thank you, Bull.” 

 

The town of Sahrnia had seen better days. What wasn’t ravaged by the War of the Lions was claimed by the vicious winter. Houses that were once painted hues of red and blue lay gutted, walls fallen to the streets leaving only a hollow husk behind. 

 

“At least for these people, the War is over,” Cassandra said as they looked about the town. 

 

“But not their troubles,” Cullen noted, seeing a woman speaking to a commoner outside one of the few intact houses in the town. She wore the robes of an Orlesian noblewoman, though she carried a sack in her hands. Mistress Poulin, he had been briefed. 

 

She handed the sack to the commoner as they approached. “--combined with the beans from last week, these should make a meal,” she was saying.

 

“Thank you, Mistress,” the commoner bowed, taking the sack. He walked away, bowing profusely. 

 

Cullen approached Poulin, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “That was generous of you,” he said.

 

She turned to him and sighed. “I do what I can,” she replied. “And who might you be? More Inquisition agents?”

 

“Not entirely,” Cullen replied. “I am the Inquisitor.”

 

Poulin’s eyes widened. She bowed then, her voice tighter when she spoke. “Forgive me, your worship. I did not know.”

 

“No harm done, Mistress Poulin,” Cullen said, resisting the urge to wince when she bowed. He really hadn’t gotten used to that. 

 

Mistress Poulin straightened up. “Come, Inquisitor. My home is humble, but it is warm.” She gestured to the door behind her. Cullen and the others followed her into the house. It was indeed warm, but sparsely furnished. A small rickety table stood in the centre of a room that was designed to hold large armoires and lavish sofas. A fire burned in the hearth, sacks of food piled on either side of the fireplace, some sacks bearing the Inquisition crest. “I thank the Inquisition for their relief aid,” Mistress Poulin said as they sat around her small table. “I would offer you something hot to drink, Inquisitor, but I have precious little.”

 

“It’s fine,” Cullen held up his hand. “We’re not here to drink.”

 

“No, you are here because the Red Templars are here. Since, fool that I am, I sold them my family’s quarry.”

 

“How’s that going for ya?” Varric asked. 

 

“Not well, as you can see. They took every worker - we haven’t seen them in weeks. And they keep coming for more. There’s nothing I can do to stop them.”

 

“What do you mean the Red Templars take workers?” Cullen asked. 

 

“People just disappear,” Poulin replied. “First those who work the quarry, then they took people from their homes. I don’t know. I just hope they leave me and my family alone.”

 

“Why would you even sell land to the Red Templars?” Cullen frowned. 

 

“I didn’t know!” Poulin sighed heavily. “I swear by Andraste’s pyre, they looked like knights! Chevaliers! Until a real one showed up.”

 

“There is a Chevalier here?” Cassandra asked.

 

“Yes, a good man,” Poulin replied. “Came from Val Royeaux, apparently. Wanted to offer aid to Sahrnia. He’s been holding the town safe for the past few weeks before your Inquisition came. One Michel de Chevin.”

 

“We’ll speak to him,” Cullen said. “Perhaps he will be able to give us a clearer outlook of what threatens Sahrnia.”

 

“You’re welcome to. As for the Red Templars, they said they would re-open the quarry, bring employment, bring trade back to Sarhnia - such pretty speeches.” There was a tightness to her eyes. “We have been struggling since the war began. How could I refuse? It was good for a time. People went to work, they were paid. Then they stopped coming home. Then the Red Templars stopped pretending.”

 

“We will do what we can, Mistress,” Cullen said as he stood up.

 

“Maker go with you, Inquisitor,” said Poulin, her chair dragging across the unpolished floor as she rose. 

 

“So, a Chevalier,” Varric said when they were outside. “Surprising one of them ditched Gaspard to come here.”

 

“Maybe one of them has his head screwed on right,” Dorian replied. 

 

“Cole,” Cullen said to the boy who walked next to him through the rubble-filled streets. “What did you read from Mistress Poulin.”

 

“Regret,” Cole replied. “No choice, torn between the lesser of two evils. The high road leads to death, for all of us. The low road - perhaps some will be spared.”

 

Cullen glanced at Cole. “That’s… helpful.”

 

“I’m glad.”

 

“Kid still doesn’t get sarcasm,” Varric sighed. “I’ve been working with him for weeks already.”

 

Speaking to the Chevalier was troubling. Most of what Michel de Chevin had to say did not bode well, but Cullen was hopeful that come the finish, they could welcome the knight into the Inquisition. He struck Cullen as a good man. They continued up the path from Sarhnia, leaving the lone Chevalier to his watch on the town. “So, an ancient demon and Red Templars are on the agenda for us,” Varric said as they climbed the path into the hills. “I got to say, Curly, travel with you is never boring.”

 

“I’m glad someone’s pleased about this development,” Cullen frowned. Ancient demons. Perfect. 

 

“Fearful and uncertain, you don’t have to be worried,” Cole murmured to him. “Stronger when you hold her.”

 

Cullen laughed. “Thank you for the reminder, Cole,” he said. If there was one thing he had to remember, it was that he wasn’t alone. Imshael was going to die. He would rout the Red Templars. 

 

“I hope I help,” Cole murmured. 

 

“You always do.”

 

“Knock, knock,” Varric said, their boots crunching in the snow.

 

There was silence from Cullen, Cassandra and Dorian as they all avoided his gaze. 

 

“Oh, come on!” Varric said plaintively. 

 

“What are you knocking on?” Cole asked curiously. 

 

Varric stared at Cole. “I think I need to explain a few things before we proceed, Kid.”

 

As they hiked on, they began to encounter spires of red lyrium growing from the rocks. Snow had melted around the base of the lyrium as the crystals themselves wavered with heat, the rocks beneath slick and slippery with snowmelt. Cullen was beginning to hear the song, dark and metallic, scraping at the back of his skull. Where in Therinfal, the last traces of lyrium in his blood hummed in discord with the red’s song, here, only the red lyrium’s song reverberated in his head. Perhaps he had used all the lyrium left in his. He looked down at the mark on his hand. He was feeling none of the effects of the lack of lyrium in his blood. The magic of the mark was sustaining him. 

 

“They look warm,” Dorian mused as they passed the crystal. 

 

“I’d rather stay cold,” Cassandra said, glancing at Cullen. 

 

“They do give off heat,” Cullen said, absently rubbing the mark on his hand. “In Kirkwall, Meredith never had snow on her either. No one knows why.”

 

“Perhaps my contact will be able to tell us once we get to Skyhold,” Varric said. 

 

“Perhaps.” Cullen caught Cassandra’s glance and flashed her a reassuring smile. Best not to let anyone worry about him. One flight into the desert was enough. 

 

++++++

 

The fire at the Tower of Bones burned bright. Cullen sat alone by the flames, enjoying the warmth. There was a brazier in his tent, but it had just been lit. The flames of the bonfire were warmest. Everyone was taking the time to rest after a long and exhausting day of fighting. They had managed to cut a swathe through the Red Templars, establishing camps from Sarhnia right to the Tower of Bones. Suledin keep loomed ahead of them. Come the morn, they would storm it. For now, his head was killing him. The red song scraped across the skull. He reached into a waist pack and pulled out the tincture Evelyn had pressed on him. He had quite a few bottles. He took a long swig of it and winced at the horrid taste. 

 

As he stoppered the bottle and slipped it into his waist pack, Scout Harding approached him. “Inquisitor,” she saluted. 

 

“Scout Harding,” Cullen smiled.

 

She smiled and held out a folded and sealed parchment. “Message for you.” Cullen raised an eyebrow as she saluted again, barely keeping from smiling. He dismissed her and turned the parchment over in his hand. It was sealed with plain wax. He moved to open it and paused. He brought the parchment to his nose and started to laugh to himself. It smelled of lilies. He sighed, unable to help but feel his heart lift. He knew who this was from. No wonder Harding was smiling like a cat who swallowed the canary. 

 

He broke the seal and read Evelyn’s florid handwriting. How did she have so much time to add all those swirls all over the place? The initial part of the letter was summarized reports on Corypheus. Movements in the south of Orlais, strange forays into the jungles of the Arbor Wilds. Odd. What was Corypheus doing poking around in the jungles? He read the post script. 

 

_ I am most displeased that you refused to kiss me goodbye when you were leaving. I know we were surrounded by soldiers, but I am still mortified. I expect you to come back and remedy the situation, Inquisitor. This is utterly unacceptable. I miss you.  E. _

 

Dorian emerged from his tent, bundled up under a blanket. “Have you a quill handy?” Cullen asked, quickly folding the parchment.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” Dorian replied. “I came out to use the privy, I generally do not carry quills to the privy.”

 

“I didn’t need to know that,” Cullen chuckled. 

 

“Don’t you want to know what I’m wearing under the blanket?” Dorian grinned. 

 

“Ah, should you be saying that sort of thing? What would Bull say?” Cullen waggled a finger.

 

Dorian sighed mournfully. “That’s true. Must resist urge to flirt with beefy warrior types when I am in happy, healthy conviviality with a beefy warrior type. A change in status, even temporary ones, are hard to be accustomed to.”

 

“Indeed,” Cullen sighed as he stood up. 

 

“Trouble in paradise?” 

 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, frowning uncertainly. “Not… really. Quite the opposite, actually. Things are going… wonderful. That’s what scares me.”

 

“That does not sound unfamiliar,” Dorian smiled. “Fleeting or not, Inquisitor, I find it best to seize the good times while they’re here. Less regret whe- if they fall from your grasp. At least you seized them to begin with.”

 

Cullen smiled faintly. “That is both encouraging and depressing.”

 

“Throw in a swear or two and it’s Tevinter in a nutshell.”

 

Cullen chuckled. “So… you and Bull. Is it what I think it is?”

 

“So, you and the Commander, is it what I think it is?”

 

They stared at each other, locked in an impasse.

 

“Honestly?” Dorian said, seeming to want to get it off his chest. “It’s a whole lot of something. At first, it was an ill conceived notion after a night of drinking. Then there was the second time. And the third. I don’t know what’s going on, to be honest. I suspect, neither does the Bull. There, I’ve done my telling - and my ancestors are spinning in their graves. Your turn.” 

 

“I care for her,” Cullen replied. “A great deal. I just prefer to take things… slow, I suppose. Evelyn would prefer to just rip off my-” Fuck! “I mean--”

 

“I heard about the ripping,” Dorian grinned. 

 

“How did you even--” Cullen’s cheeks burned in mortification. 

 

“Ah, she’s not all that discreet when she’s drunk.”

 

“Sweet Andraste!”

 

Dorian laughed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some matters that need attending to. We most certainly did not stand here having a sensitive relationship talk.”

 

“We are agreed on that much.”

 

“We were talking about killing things.”

 

“Exactly. It could not have been otherwise.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to find out what’s under the blanket? I could be wearing anything - or not at all.”

 

Cullen was heading to his tent. “You’re wearing clothes, Dorian. You wouldn’t be standing there talking about ‘killing things’ if your balls were freezing off.”

 

“Ugh, I despise it when you’re insufferably smart.”

 

The tent flap fell behind Cullen. The brazier had sufficiently warmed the tent by now. He opened Evelyn’s letter and read her post script. He sighed. As much as he wanted to pretend it was some gentlemanly gesture that was keeping him moving things slow, he knew was was really behind it. 

 

That… that stupid fear. That fear that made him feel like an insecure teenager. Probably because… he was. How was he supposed to proceed? It wasn’t the sex. He could deal with the sex. He wanted to deal with the sex. But he wanted it to mean… something. He wanted…

 

He sighed and folded the parchment, rubbing his forehead. It mattered not. In the here and now, her had a demon to deal with. Still, he went to the camp table in his tent and sat down, pulling a quill towards him. He scribbled on a parchment.

 

_ I will make it a priority to rectify the situation. You are in my thoughts. C. _

 

He dated it and addressed it to her. He knew what he wanted. All that remained was determining if she wanted the same. His stomach twisted just thinking about it. Stupid. He set the parchment on the table to be sent in the morning. As if this weren’t enough, he had to deal wit Imshael come the dawn. After Nightmare, after Therinfal, after Kinloch, he feared. Still. It would never really go away, no matter how long he served as Inquisitor. The Chants came to mind, falling to his lips as he settled down to sleep. 

 

++++

 

Mountain rains were the worst sort of rains. What didn’t turn to ice crept into the skin, cold gripping the bones no matter how well you cover up. Cullen, Cassandra, Varric and Dorian crossed the bridge to Skyhold, leading their horses along. The winds were sudden and cruel, and the parapets of the bridge were not so high that they risked riding only to be blown off. Cullen held his shield over his head, as did Cassandra, the rain pinging on the metal in a noisy staccato. Varric and Dorian were making do with hoods, but both were clearly surly. 

 

“First bitter snow, then demons, then red lyrium infused giants, now the biting rains,” Dorian muttered as the rain dripped down the end of his nose. 

 

“Dorian, I could bring you to a Val Royeaux bath house and you’d still complain,” Cullen said over his shoulder.

 

“Oh, believe me, I wouldn’t,” Dorian grinned at him. “Bring me to a Val Royeaux bath house, please, Inquisitor! I promise I won’t complain - about the bath house. I make no promise about the Orlesians.”

 

Cullen sighed. 

 

“At least you don’t have to spend hours calibrating your crossbow,” Varric sighed. “Do mages do that? Calibrate?”

 

“Depends, are you buying me dinner first?” Dorian said. 

 

“Ugh,” went Cassandra. 

 

Cullen raised his shield, the gate to Skyhold open before them. He saw a figure in white waiting in what little shelter the battlements provided. She was soaked, her hair plastered to her face and neck. Cullen smiled before he realized it and pointedly did not look at Varric, Cassandra or Dorian, though he could feel their eyes on him. He had endured weeks of teasing about the bruise on his neck in the Emprise - enough was enough. At least now they had nothing else to tease him about. 

 

But if there were truly nothing to tease him about, he mused as Evelyn strode towards them in the rain with droplets pinging off her armour, he realized he would regret it more. If there was one thing good about the mark, about being Inquisitor, it was the people. It was her. 

 

“Hello, Ev-” 

 

She grabbed his chestplate and drew him down into a kiss, her lips wet with rain. Cullen hesitated for a heartbeat, then lowered his shield to block them from view as the others passed them. Her arm snaked around his neck, one foot raising. 

 

“Ah,  _ nos et cedamus amori _ ,” Dorian sighed as they walked their horses past, Cullen and Evelyn. 

 

“You can say that again,” Varric agreed as Cassandra’s chuckle ghosted behind her in the rain.

 

“Idiots,” Cullen muttered. 

 

Evelyn grinned up at him, blinking away the rain. “It’s going to take me hours to help Rufus buff the rust off the armour,” she said, rain falling around them. 

 

“And we are still standing in the rain because…?”

 

“I don’t mind getting wet for you.”

 

Cullen smirked and shook his head. “How long did you wait for that joke?”

 

“Ages,” she laughed, taking the reigns of his horse and his free hand in the other. Cullen raised his shield to shelter them both. “We’ve gotten the letters from Sarhnia Quarry that you found and sent ahead. Leliana is working on them now. With any luck, we’ll find this Shrine of Dumat soon.”

 

“Good,” Cullen said. 

 

“And your… with the demon…”

 

“I’m alright, Evelyn,” he assured her. “Imshael is dead. He was powerful, but he was no Nightmare. He couldn’t get into my head.”

 

“Solas says it might be because the demon has been wearing a corporeal body for too long,” Evelyn replied. “Sort of like Cole.”

 

“Perhaps.” Solas would know all about demons. The elf himself struck Cullen as oddly similar to one. 

 

“And the red lyrium?” Her blue eyes were full of concern. 

 

“I am fine,” Cullen said again as they entered the gates of Skyhold. A groom took the horse from Evelyn. “I had headaches, yes, but the tinctures helped. The mark was thrumming the whole time. I wonder what it’s doing.” Above them, the mark sparked at Cullen’s words, bathing them in green light. “Yes, alright, stop that,” Cullen shook his hand, water running off his shield. The mark sullenly went out. 

 

“I feel like that’s a third party to our relationship,” Evelyn said, looking up at the stilled mark. 

 

“Don’t, I touch myself with that hand,” Cullen pointed out. “A-as in I bathe and-- Stop leering at me like that.”

 

“I’m not,” Evelyn leered, holding her hands behind her back. “Dinner, later?”

 

“Actually,” Cullen’s heart began to beat faster. “We have some dealings in Ferelden. I was hoping you might accompany me - if you can spare the time, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Evelyn said, her voice more serious. “What’s the situation?”

 

“What?” Cullen blinked. “No, it’s…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I would rather explain there, if you wish to go.”

 

“Alright,” Evelyn said slowly, looking up at him speculatively. “Security detail?”

 

“Absolute minimum.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “When do we leave?” she asked. 

 

“At your earliest convenience.”

 

“I believe there is time tomorrow morning.”

 

“Right,” Cullen said. She smiled at him speculatively as she turned to leave. “And Eve,” he called after her. “I doubt armour will be necessary so… bring something casual.”

 

She nodded, her eyes growing more curious. She glanced at him over her shoulder as she turned to walk away, a wet lock of hair caught on her lip. Cullen smiled at her from under his shield. He had to… prepare. It was foolish, but she knew so much about him. He wanted to show her something she didn’t. 

 

+++++

 

They had ridden most of the day with only two guards. They were unavoidable, a part of being the Inquisitor. As they entered the foothills of the Frostbacks south of Skyhold, the area began to look more familiar to Cullen. It was farmland fringed with forests, spreading out over the mountains under a blessedly clear sky. They followed a farm road lined with low walls of rough stone, farmers rising from their tasks to watch them pass. Some watched them with wary suspicion, since they bore swords, but many waved at the soldiers. One ran forward to press some cheese into their guard’s hands. The guard glanced at Cullen, who nodded slightly. 

 

“The Inquisition is looked upon kindly here, it seems,” Cullen noted to Evelyn, riding beside him. 

 

She smiled. “The soldiers are good people - most from farms like this. They take care to be polite and helpful when they patrol through the mountains.” 

 

Cullen saw a familiar break in the trees. He drew a deep breath. “We’ll want to pitch camp there,” he said, leading them down the path through the trees. “There’s a little clearing on the inside, I think.”

 

“You think?” Evelyn said. 

 

“I haven’t been here in years,” he smiled ruefully. 

 

“Is this where we’re going?” Evelyn asked, the dappled shadows of the trees falling over them.

 

“No, where we’re going is further in.”

 

It was late afternoon by the time the tents were pitched and the guards were given orders not to interrupt them until they returned. Cullen and Evelyn left behind their armour. His clothes felt almost unfamiliar, to be wearing nothing more than a checkered Fereldan tunic and a leather vest belted with his wide belt - the only belt he had, he earlier realized in embarrassment. He carried his sword at his hip, he would have felt undressed without it. His boots were soft leather and it felt odd to feel every pebble on the path through his soft soles. 

 

Evelyn wore far finer clothes, a white loose-sleeved tunic, belted with a sash bound around her waist, the skirt of her tunic falling over the curves of her hips. Her breeches and corset were of dark leather, and her boots heeled and well-made. Cullen had never really thought about it, but her attire was a reminder that she was nobility. Still, she was strapping on a belt, bearing a short sword at her waist. “I suppose you cannot take the Templar out of the man,” Cullen smiled as they walked away from the camp and deeper into the woods. He carried a pack across his back. 

 

“I’d feel positively naked without at least one blade on me,” she smiled at him. “You’re being awfully mysterious about this, Cullen. Where are we going?”

 

He took her hand in his, both their palms calloused from handling swords. “You’ll see,” he said. The rays of sunlight began to lengthen as they walked through the woods, turning golden. Up ahead, the path began to lighten with the golden light of the setting sun. Evelyn’s steps quickened. When the trees parted around them, they stepped out into the cool breeze that swept across the lake spreading before them, ripples shattering the light like thousands of leaping fish. The smell of lavender from the flowers that grew by the lake hung in the air. In the distance, the snow-covered mountains glittered in the sunset. In the middle of the glimmering waters, a broken tower rose from an islet, green with moss and age. A sense of peace washed over him. A rickety wooden pier stretched out into the lake. Fishing boats were docked there, their nets hung out to dry in the sun.  Thank the Maker, the lake hadn’t changed one bit. 

 

“Where are we?” Evelyn asked, letting go of his hand and pulling out a map from her waist pack. “This isn’t on the map.”

 

“I doubt it,” he smiled, putting his finger on a point on the map. “We’re about here.”

 

“Why isn’t this on the map?” she asked sounding a little miffed. 

 

“Because it’s not important, perhaps?” he suggested, liking the way they stood close to each other. “They call this Moira’s Mirror. I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet.”

 

“But this is not near Honnleath,” Evelyn frowned at the map. 

 

He chuckled at the frown on her face. “See that?” he asked, pointing to the symbol of a farmhouse nearby. “That was my home. Until my parents passed on.”

 

“Oh,” she blushed slightly. “I always assumed…”

 

“That I grew up in Honnleath proper?”

 

“Sort of.”

 

“The farm was part of Honnleath and we did visit often. But no, I truly grew up in the middle of nowhere.”

 

She smiled up at him a little sheepishly. “I… didn’t know that.”

 

“Rumours in the barracks and Templar training modules can’t tell you everything about me, Eve.” He slipped his hand around her waist. 

 

She chuckled in embarrassment and nudged him with her hip. “A girl can try. But this is… a wonderful surprise.”

 

He jerked his head for her to follow him. They walked along the shore of the lake to a grassy knoll overlooking the waters. Cullen set the pack down as Evelyn watched on. He knelt by the pack and opened it, drawing out a blanket. He held it out to Evelyn. “Could you--” He began, but stopped when he saw the look on her face. She was blushing and holding her cheeks. 

 

“A picnic?” she asked. 

 

Oh, Maker, was it too much? “Um. Yes?”

 

“You’re so romantic!” she squeaked, her eyes wide and sparkling. 

 

He stared at her, at a loss for words. Then he started to laugh, his shoulders shaking as he leaned on his knees for support. Evelyn seemed to snap out of it. “You were romantic up until that point!” she snapped, her face red as she grabbed the blanket from him and lay it out on the grass. 

 

Cullen was too busy laughing to respond. When she knelt down to take the food out of the pack, the memory of that squeak just sent him over the edge again. She pulled out a block of cheese wrapped in wax paper and a bottle of wine. “By the Maker, are you finished?” she asked, glaring at him. “I take it back! You’re not romantic. You’re an ass.”

 

“Forgive me,” he laughed, covering his mouth with his fist as he tried to stop laughing. “Forgive me, I just--”

 

“No, I’m not forgiving you,” she tossed her hair and set the bottle and cheese on the blanket. She reached for more food from the pack. “It’s not like people give me picnics by beautiful lakes every day or anything so, by all means, please keep lau--” Cullen caught her wrist and pulled her to him, making her gasp. He kissed her protests away. 

 

She looked at him sullenly, her cheeks hot as she pouted. “You’re an idiot,” she muttered, their foreheads touching. 

 

“You’re adorable.”

 

She glared at him and punched him in the shoulder. “Ow!” He rubbed his shoulder. “Maker! That’s going to leave a bruise!” 

 

“Poor Cullen,” she said loftily and resumed unpacking the food. 

 

They set out the food and settled down to eat, both their swords unhooked from their belts and set on the blanket beside them. She eventually forgave him after a glass of wine and some cheese with her biscuits. “Did you come here often?” she asked him as they sat leaning against each other, watching the sun setting. 

 

He chuckled. “I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head - of course, they always found me eventually.”

 

“I imagine you were as loud as they were.”

 

“I-- was not!” 

 

She laughed. “You were happy here.”

 

“I was,” he sighed. “I still am.”

 

“Then I’m glad you’re here,” she murmured, looking up at him. “Even though you’re just, well, with me.” She smiled a little ruefully. “I did to everything I could to hide a blood mage.”

 

“Your brother,” Cullen said softly as he idly plucked a blade of grass, splitting the blade into three with his fingers. “I cannot pretend that I would have not… done the same. Not to mention the fact that I did let a blood mage go free as well. Hawke’s companion.” He took her hand in his. “You need to stop thinking I’m going to change my mind about that and judge you. I have… my slate is not the cleanest, either.” As they spoke, he started to braid the grass, finding that his fingers had not forgotten how, even though years had passed since he last braided Rosalie’s hair.

 

“You still regret the man you became after Ferelden?”

 

He sighed. “After the Fereldan Circle, I thought all mages were like the ones there. Knight-Commander Meredith’s methods were harsh, but they kept people safe.”

 

“She never struck me as all that stable. Then again, neither did Markham.”

 

“I had heard the Ostwick Circle was relatively peaceful.”

 

“Not really through any effort of his. First Enchanter Jorick encouraged a very open relationship with the city - healer’s clinics and the like, under Templar supervision. Those eventually came under my purview. In that regard, the Teyrn lent his support, because the mages were proving useful. It was in the countryside that Markham hunted apostates fanatically. Few made it to the Circle, to put it mildly.”

 

“Healers Clinics? That worked?” Cullen was surprised. 

 

“It did. It was hard at first, but Jorick’s clinics treated all without payment. Provided the Templars were there, most were inclined to receive free treatment after a time, especially the poor in the Warrens - like, the Undercity. It was all I could do to keep Markham outside the city where his meddling wouldn’t spoil the trust Jorick sought to build. He was a bother, but at least he wasn’t all that fanatical, like Meredith.”

 

“Yes, she was fanatical on hindsight. But she was my knight-commander, I had no reason to distrust her. She wasn’t wrong about the blood mages in Kirkwall. I knew she encouraged my anger towards mages, but there was only so far I would go - and she knew that too. She kept decisions from me - those I would question. I believed she was serving the city. I never thought to question her, not until it was too late.”

 

“Yet you did,” Evelyn smiled. “You stood against her.”

 

“Yes, but what if I didn’t? Would I be like her now?” He snapped the blade of grass in half as he rested his arms on his knees, his brow furrowed. “You say she was fanatical but… I wanted mages locked away as much as she did. I trusted they were treated reasonably well, but I should have done more. I should have looked into it. I didn’t. It’s not yet enough. The Inquisition is my chance to atone and I will see it through.” He tossed the blade into the air, the wind catching it and carrying it away to the clouds. He sighed again. “If anything happens, I’m sure Leliana will send rep--” 

 

“Cullen,” Evelyn said firmly. “You, me, alone. Pretty lake.”

 

He chuckled. “Right, of course.” They sat in silence, staring out at the waters as the sun set.

 

“The last time I was here was the day I left for Templar training,” he said. He reached into his pocket and drew out that familiar old coin, worn smooth from his fingers over the years. He sighed softly. He turned it over in his hand. “Branson - my brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. It was the only thing I took with me that the Templars didn’t give me.”

 

“You broke the Order’s rules, Knight Commander?” Evelyn smiled up at him. “I’m shocked.”

 

“Up until a little over a year ago, I was very good at following them. Most of the time,” he protested with a laugh. “But I… kept this all this time.”

 

“I don’t know if it worked, then. You’ve not been very fortunate.”

 

“I should have died during the Blight. Or at Kirkwall, or Haven - take your pick.” He looked out over the lake, his heart light as the wind washed over them, the sky stained purple with the setting sun. “And yet, I made it back here.” After everything that happened, he was here once more. This unmapped little lake in an unimportant corner of Ferelden. They call him Inquisitor, he led thousands of men, and yet he couldn’t be happier than to just be here, at this lake, with Evelyn. His hand closed around the coin as he shut his eyes, the smell of lavender a heady perfume borne by the wind. 

 

He felt something silken slip around his wrist. He turned to see Evelyn tying a white silken handkerchief around his wrist. “Humour me,” she said softly, her eyes hidden by her hair as her fingers worked the knot. “You walk into danger every day. You don’t know what you’ll face before the end. The favour of a lady can’t hurt, Ser Knight.”

 

His fingers felt something hard in the silk. “What’s this?”

 

“My brother’s engagement ring,” she said, her blue eyes soft and vulnerable. “He gave it to me after his fiancee died. To remind me that… it was something pure I fought to save. It’s foolish but I want you to remember that as well.” 

 

He smiled gently as he took her hand in his. “I’ll keep it safe,” he murmured. He placed the coin in her palm and closed her fingers over it as their foreheads touched. “Will you watch over this for me?” 

 

Her fingers brushed his stubble lightly, the light around them beginning to fade, stars peeking in the gathering dark of the clear sky. “When all this is over,” she murmured. “I’ll give it back to you. When you come back to me.”

 

Her voice rang with faith. Cullen had never heard that in her before. He shut his eyes. If he should die… his mind shied away from the thought. “When all this is over?” he asked, his voice heavy as he held her hand in his, her fingers still closed on the coin. “Will we- That is-- I--”

 

Her lips silenced him, her kiss gentle as the smell of lavender washed over them. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice quivering almost uncertainly. “You know that, don’t you?” 

 

He felt her words run through him, lifting the weight in his heart as he sighed. He had never thought himself worthy of love, yet here she was. For all his brokenness, his mistakes, she saw it all and yet…

 

He swallowed, the words coming up easier, borne on his rising spirit and the the wings of his quiet joy. “I love you too.” This was what he wanted. A future. 

 

He kissed her again, more seriously, this time, his hand cradling the back of her head as he lowered her to the blanket. She smiled into the kiss when he lay down on her, her hand slipping the coin into the safety of her waist pack, her legs wrapping around his waist almost automatically. He ground his hips into hers, kissing her as her fingers ran through his hair, completely messing it up. His hands ran over her body as she squirmed under him in the growing dusk. The knot of her sash took all of a moment to undo, she lifted her waist as he pulled the silk free. Her hands moved to undo the buckles of his vest, all the while, their lips locked. It was now her fingers that fumbled. He broke the kiss, nipping her chin lightly as he pulled. She moved to rise with him, but he pushed her gently back down onto the blanket. 

 

He sat on his heels, her legs hooked on his thighs as she watched him undo the buckles of his vest and cast it aside. As the crickets began to sing in the growing night, he pulled off his tunic. She bit her lip slightly, her cheeks reddening at the sight of him, which Cullen found rather satisfying to see. He set his hands on her hips, running them up along the sides of her body, cupping her breasts through her vest. She sighed, rubbing her hips against his growing length. His fingers moved to the clasp of her vest, undoing them one by one with slow deliberateness, her chest heaving under his touch. 

 

When the last clasp gave way, he let the vest fall aside. His hands closed over her breasts, cupping the soft mounds through her tunic, her back arching. He sighed softly, lips parting hungrily as he brought her breasts together, the peaks of her nipples perked under her tunic. He lowered his lips to one of them, her moan quivering from her lips as he flicked her peak through her tunic with his tongue. He felt her hand reaching under her waist, running her fingers along his length through his breeches. He turned to the other nipple, his tongue and lips claiming that too even as his fingers gently squeezed the peak her had left behind. Her fingers had found the lacing of his breeches. She tugged at it, the knot coming free. 

 

He sighed hungrily, cradling her back as he lifted her up onto his lap. She gasped as she settled on his lap. Cullen pulled off her tunic, her breasts falling free, silver in the moonlight. His breath was hot on her chest as he cupped her breasts, his fingers tracing the edge of the aureolas. She tugged his head back firmly but gently by the hair and kissed him deeply, her hand snaking between them and into his breeches. He felt her hand on his length, gasping into the kiss as she stroked him, every stroke awakening him, drawing his skin back over the head. He moaned into the kiss, her tongue tracing its way to his ear. Her hand stroked him expertly as he bucked into her touch, his fingers tugging down her breeches. She moved her legs off him as he pulled down her breeches, her legs kicking them off. He moaned as her tongue wet his ear, her teeth tugging his lobe in a way he never knew could make him tingle so much. 

 

When he slipped his hand between her legs, feeling the wetness of her quim, pressing down on the peak of her sex. She moaned into his ear. He leaned back down onto the blanket, pulling her on top of him as they kissed. Evelyn trailed her kisses from his lips to his neck, his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipples as her hand continued to stroke him. He shuddered, pleasure lancing through him as her lips closed on his nipple. “Stop,” he gasped, propping up onto his elbows, flushed from cheeks to chest. “Maker, you’ll kill me if you keep going.”

 

She chuckled. “Good to know,” she purred, leaning over him, the smell of her sex strong in the air. Her finger tweaked his nipple again, making him gasp, his length jumping in her hand. “Maybe I should keep going.”

 

“You’re awful,” he smirked as he lifted her chin to kiss her. “Maybe you should lie down,” he growled, pushing her knee off balance and catching her as she rolled under him with a yelp. He lowered her onto the blanket, his sword getting in the way, which she pushed off the blanket. He spread her legs, moving lower. She watched him expectant as he lay down between her legs, biting the inside of her thigh. She gasped, her chest heaving, the smell of her heady and enticing. She was watching him, propped up on her elbows, her lips parted. He locked his gaze with her, his fingers opening her lips to him as he blew a gentle caress of air. “Cullen,” she moaned, his name had never sounded so erotic. 

 

He wanted to hear her moan. He had always wondered what she sounded like. He knew the tricks. He teased her with his tongue, his breath, his nose against her clit. She squirmed against his face, her hand grabbing his hair as he slipped a finger, then two inside her, tongue and lips and fingers drawing her higher and higher. Her body started to shake under him, quivering as her thighs gripped his head. She cried out in pleasure. Cullen looked up, her back arching, her hand grasping her breast as she threw her head back. He could feel her sex gripping his fingers, his nose and chin wet with her juices. She tasted so good. He wanted her. 

 

She looked down at him, her eyes a little surprised, her face flushed. She pulled him up, kissing him, her tongue almost drinking up the wetness on his face. Cullen kicked off his breeches, stroking his length. “Maker, take me,” she whispered against his lips. Cullen did not need to be asked twice. He rubbed his length along her wet slit, hearing her gasp as his tip rubbed over her swollen clit. He kissed her neck, nipping lightly, finally sliding the tip in. He moaned as her heat enveloped him as he pushed in to the hilt. She let out a quivering sigh, rolling her hips against him. He drew out to the very head and pushed back in, slowly at first, but with every thrust, he drove deeper and deeper into her, faster and faster. She hung onto him, her body tensing as he drove into her, the sound of their bodies coming togehter sharp in the air. He was beginning to sweat now as he thrust into her. He bent to kiss her, her nails raking over his back. His eyes locked on hers, their foreheads touching as he drove into her faster. Maker, he was so close…

 

“Come inside me,” she breathed. “Trust me. Fuck me, Cullen.”

 

He grunted as he grabbed her shoulders to brace her against the thrusts. He thrust harder and faster, rocking her body as she moaned into the night sky, all thought erased save for her eyes that held his gaze. With a final cry, he felt the orgasm wash over him, his body flushing as the hot, sweet pleasure ran through him. He felt her quivering under him, her sex gripping his length as she came, her fingers raking over his back, the welts stinging from his sweat. He slumped down on her body, catching his breath, his length still inside her. He felt her hands hold him, gently stroking his hair as his face nuzzled her shoulder. “Evelyn,” he breathed.

 

“Mm...”

 

But no words were necessary. They lay there together under the moonlight until his chest stopped heaving. He propped himself up on his elbows and kissed her tenderly, the sweat drying from his skin, his body shivered slightly as the wind ran its cool fingers over his back. He felt her moving her arms. He glanced down to see her moving the cheese, wine and biscuits onto the grass. Then she draped the blanket over them both. He smirked affectionately, his finger rubbing her ear. “I wouldn’t want the Inquisitor to catch a cold,” she said. 

 

“How thoughtful,” he chuckled as he moved off her. She curled up next to him, their bodies wet with sweat. 

 

They lay in silence for a moment, their breathing slowing to match each other’s. To the sounds of the crickets and the cooing night birds, the waters of the lake lapping on the shore under the moonlight, all thoughts of war fell far from mind as they fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That went well. God I hate writing smut.


	33. Cole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'ed as of now. :3 You have been warned. This is a very light-hearted chapter. Enjoy.

“Ultimately, we can’t move until we settle this Shrine,” Evelyn was saying as they sat around the War Table.

 

“My agents are working on it,” Leliana said. “WE will need more time.”

 

“In the meanwhile, Corypheus is moving closer to his real goal,” Morrigan added, her long elegant fingers interlaced before her as she leaned back in her chair. “Tis not the Shrine we should worry about,” she held up a hand as Evelyn opened her mouth. “Granted, Commander, weakening Corypheus and his Red Templar forces are important. Taking them down would be a boon to the Inquisition and a blow to Corypheus. But we must address that even now, Corypheus may find the Red Templars expandable.”

 

“His people have been ransacking elven ruins since Haven,” Leliana added. “What he seeks to find, however, continues to elude us.”

 

“And whatever he hopes to find, he thinks it’s in the Arbor Wilds,” Cullen said, eyeing the marker on the map above the Arbor Wilds. If you have some knowledge to share, Lady Morrigan, we would be remiss to  ignore it."

 

Morrigan laughed at that. “Indeed, although tis pleasant to see that fact… appreciated.”

 

Evelyn said nothing.

 

“The thing which Corypheus seeks in the Arbor Wilds is both ancient as it is dangerous,” Morrigan went on.

 

“Which is?” Cullen asked.

 

She looked at him speculatively. “Tis best if I showed you.”

 

Cullen saw his advisors exchanging glances. The meeting with Morrigan had not gone as smoothly as he had hoped, besides the fact that the woman had walked in without knocking or being invited. Apparently, that wasn’t sitting well with his advisors. The tension was growing rather grating. He glanced at his advisors. “We’ll adjourn the meeting for now,” he said, standing up. “We lack updates in key areas anyway. We’re sitting on our hands for now. Till tomorrow then.”

 

The ladies stood up. “This way, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said cooly, gesturing to the door. Cullen followed her, leaving the others in the War Room. She brought him to the Garden, where she often was to be found, quietly tutoring a small boy whom Cullen assumed was her son. She produced a rusted ancient key and opened the door to an adjoining room to the Garden.

 

Cullen stepped in and frowned. “What is this?” he asked, his voice echoing in the high ceiling over the quiet hum of the thing before him. Rising three times as tall as a man, an elegant mirror dominated the far wall of the room. But where there should be glass, a wavering blue light glimmered, twisted under the gaze, ever shifting in shape. It hurt to look at it too closely for long.

 

“This,” Morrigan said, shutting and locking the door behind her. “Is an Eluvian.”

 

“It’s magical.”

 

“Well spotted, Inquisitor,” she murmured.

 

“I could do with less of that, Lady Morrigan,” Cullen said tersely. More magic. He felt himself tensing in the presence of the mirror.

 

“This is an ancient Elven artefact, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said, stepping past him to the mirror. “From a time long before their Empire was lost to human greed.” Cullen stepped beside her before the mirror. “I restored this one at great cost, but another lies within the Arbor Wilds. That is what Corypheus seeks.”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. The foci Corypheus used had been elven as well. “What brought you to that conclusion?”

 

“I found legends of an elven temple within the Arbor Wilds, untouched. It proved too dangerous to approach and so I sought my prize elsewhere. If Corypheus turned southward, he could succeed where I failed. The Eluvian could be his.”

 

Cullen looked up at the mirror, the light twisting, shapes tantilizingly familiar to the mind. “What does it do?” he asked.

 

Morrigan stretched her arms out to the mirror, that burst with a heart-stopping tremor, filling the room with blue light.

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen gasped, stepping back from it, and shielding his eyes.

 

Morrigan turned to him, her eyes glinting in the blue glow of the mirror, her face cast in shadow. “A more appropriate question would be, ‘Where does it lead?” She faced the mirror and stepped through the wavering glow, stepping into the rippling glass and vanishing.

 

Cullen swallowed, glancing up at the waiting mirror. He reached out to the glass hesitantly, his heart hammering in his ears. Morrigan had gone through like it was nothing. It had to be safe. He drew a deep breath, his hands balling into fists. He reached out to the glass and stepped through, shielding his eyes with his arms.

 

The world wavered blue around him, the sound of the mirror thrumming through his body. And then it was over. He blinked, looking around him. In the gray fog that rolled before him, a whole courtyard of mirror stood, silent and empty. Stone trees rose to the sky, their branches curled elegantly into orbs The air was… strange. It was real, but just barely. It smelled strange - Cullen had no words to describe it. Almost like the smell of old books and fresh forests oddly mixed. And the sound. It crackled here, almost like the Fade did. “What is this place?” he asked, his voice echoing.

 

“If this place once had a name, it has long been lost,” Morrigan said softly, the sound of her voice rolling over the void. “I call it the Crossroads. The place where all Eluvians join, wherever they might be.”

 

Cullen realized his mouth was dry. He stepped forward, eyeing the dark silent mirrors around them. “There are hundreds… thousands,” he breathed, looking around. “There is no end to this place.”

 

“They number as the stars in the sky, Inquisitor,” Morrigan murmured, leading the way deeper into the fog. “The ancient elves left no roads, only ruins in far-flung corners of the world. This is how they travelled between them.” She gestured to the mirrors. “As you can see, most of the mirrors are dark - broken, corrupted, unusable. As for the rest, a few can be open from this side, but only a few.”

 

“Lady Morrigan,” Cullen frowned. “You mean to tell me you’ve had a magic door open to this magic place with other magic doors that others might open - in my keep.”

 

She smiled faintly at that. “Yes, Inquisitor.”

 

“You did not think it was necessary to tell me?”

 

“Fear not, Inquisitor. As you so eloquenly put it, some of these Eluvians can be opened from this side, like doors accidentally left ajar. Others are closed, and can only be opened from beyond.”

 

“You did not answer my question, Lady Morrigan.”

 

She sighed softly. “This place is safe, Inquisitor. For a time, it offered me sanctuary from those who hunted me. But only for a time. One cannot remain… in between worlds forever.”

 

“We’re between worlds?” Cullen asked.

 

“In a manner of speaking. I’m afraid I can describe it no better.”

 

Cullen grunted, rubbing his forehead, feeling a headache coming on from the crackling air. “You said the closed mirrors can be opened. How?” Cullen asked.

 

“With a key.”

 

“And you have such a key?”

 

“The key can be many things,” she smiled. “Each Eluvian is different. I have knowledge as well as power. Often, that is enough. The ancients were nothing if not resourceful.”

 

“Try convoluted.”

 

She chuckled.

 

“This is all… terribly fascinating, Lady Morrigan but… why show this to me?” Cullen asked, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.

 

“This is not the Fade,” Morrigan said seriously. “But it is very close. Someone with enough power could tear down the ancient barriers.”

 

“And enter the Fade in the flesh,” Cullen muttered. “As Corypheus sought to do with the Anchor.”

 

“And he has learned of the Eluvian in the Arbor Wilds as I did. He marshals his forces to reach it.”

 

Cullen looked at the mirrors around him. “Can you tell which mirror is the one he seeks?” he asked. “If we could open it from this side…”

 

She chuckled. “T’would be impossible. The mirrors number beyond counting.”

 

“It was just a thought.” Too much to hope for, he surmised. She turned, leading from where they stood in the Crossroads and back to the mirror.

 

“You have made Corypheus desperate, Inquisitor,” she said over her shoulder. “We must do everything we can to stop him, and soon.”

 

“He is not the only desperate one here, Lady Morrigan,” Cullen said. She stepped through the glass of her lit mirror. Cullen tensed and followed her through. The world wavered blue once more, and he found himself in the room back at Skyhold. He looked over his shoulder at the mirror. “Can this be locked?” he asked.

 

She smiled and held her hands out to the mirror. It flashed and went dark. All that remained was yellowing, faded glass. He reached out and drew his fingers over it, he could see the trepidation in his own eyes in the mirror. “Maker’s breath,” he sighed. “And people wonder why we fear magic.”

 

“In the wrong hands,” Morrigan said.

 

“That’s the difficult part, isn’t it?”

 

“For a very direct man, your observations are quite astute, Inquisitor,” she smiled, leading him to the door, which she unlocked.

 

“I’m happy you approve,” he muttered, blinking in the sunlight. Outside, an Inquisition messenger stood in the garden, looking around in confusion. When he saw Cullen, he jogged over and saluted.

 

“Message for you, ser!” the soldier said, handing him a small wrapped package.

 

“Thank you,” Cullen said as he heard Morrigan lock the door behind him. He opened the package. A white bone amulet fell out onto his palm. “Head to the Rest and summon Cole to meet me and Solas in the rotunda, please.”

 

“Who?” the soldier blinked.

 

Damn. Cullen had forgotten that Cole was barely visible to most people. “Er, just… stand on the second floor and yell it a bit. I’m sure it will get across.”

 

Looking more confused than ever, the messenger saluted and jogged away.

 

“An amulet of the unbound,” Morrigan said, stepping up beside him.

 

“You would know about this.”

 

“A genuine one at that. Local mages try to mimic its power, but only when made with its true materials can it be fully effective.”

 

Cullen’s curiosity was piqued. “What material?”

 

“The skull of an infant.”

 

Cullen’s skin crawled from the amulet in his palm. “Blessed Andraste! Is nothing magical just… simple?”

 

Morrigan smiled faintly at him. “Most magic is simple,” she said with an arch tilt to her head. “So simple that it ceases to be magical and becomes mundane.”

 

Cullen looked at her plaintively. “Why do I feel more confused the more you explain things?”

 

“I could try to use words with fewer syllables, Inquisitor, if it pleases you,” she beamed at him.

 

Cullen felt the sting of that. And the sting went deep. “Thank you, Lady Morrigan,” he said tersely and turned away from her, hearing the ghost of her laughter behind him. Maker. Did all the women have something witty to say about him. He was smart! He read books! They didn’t make stupid Templars!

 

He found Solas in the Rotunda, bent over his paintings as usual. The elf was crouched near the floor, working wet plaster over the wall. He looked up when Cullen entered. “Looks like we found an amulet,” Cullen said.

 

“Ah, good,” Solas carefully scraped the plaster off the spatula.

 

“I didn’t know it would be part of an infant’s skull,” Cullen frowned.

 

“Alas, the Rivaini witches tend to be a little extreme.” Solas took the amulet, turning it over in his hands.

 

“Your penchant for understatement is legendary, Solas,” Cullen raised an eyebrow.

 

The elf chuckled at him. “Nevertheless, this is suitable for Cole. It should set his mind at ease.”

 

“Will it work?”

 

Cullen startled, Cole’s voice coming suddenly behind him as the boy appeared. Cullen had a fondness for Cole, but he swore the boy was going to give him a heart attack one day.

 

“There’s only one way to find out,” Solas said.

 

“What do I do with it?” Cole asked.

 

“It is simple,” Solas said. “You put it on, I charge it with magic and you should be protected.”

 

“Really? That simple? I highly doubt it,” Cullen said, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword as Cole slipped the macabre  pendant on. He didn’t feel good telling Cole what it was made off.

 

Solas chuckled. “Have faith, Inquisitor.” The elf stretched his hand out to Cole. Cullen could feel the magic flowing, years of Templar training were hard to erase. Solas shut his eyes, the spell ebbing from his hand, flooding forth into the amulet until--

 

Cole cried out as the amulet sparked at his neck, almost throwing him back.

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed. Too much magic in a day… Cole shook his head, wincing.

 

The door to the main hall opened up and Varric walked in. “What was that?” he asked. “Oh, for… what are you doing to the kid?”

 

“Stopping the blood mages from binding me like the demons at Adamant!” Cole said firmly, the amulet swinging from his neck. “But it didn’t work.”

 

“Something in interfering with the enchantment,” Solas said thoughtfully, his hand on his chin.

 

“Something like Cole not being a demon?” Varric crossed his arms.

 

“That’s… a good point,” Cullen said slowly. “Solas, Cole has been… like this for a long time now. Could it be possible that he’s too, um, human, I suppose?”

 

“Regardless of Cole’s special circumstances, he remains a spirit,” Solas said firmly.

 

Varric smiled. “Yes, a spirit who is strangely like a person.”

 

“I don’t matter!” Cole said in frustration. “Just lock away the parts of me that someone can knot to make me follow!”

 

Cullen sighed softly at Cole’s distress.

 

“Focus on the amulet, Cole,” Solas instructed. “What do you feel?”

 

Cole’s knobbly fingers grasped the amulet. “Warm…” he whispered, his voice quivering. “Soft blanket covering, but it catches, tears, I’m the wrong shape! There’s something…” Cole looked up then, his eyes narrowing. When he spoke, his voice was firm. “There.”

 

His fingers pointed to the south east. Cullen frowned. “Solas, have you a map?” he asked. Solas went to his table and drew out a map of Ferelden from under the piles of paper. “South east,” Cullen murmured, leaning over the map. “Can you tell us more about what we’re looking for?”

 

Cole shut his eyes. “Pain, pleasure, the sweetness as it goes down the throat - how long has it been since I had a philter? Too long. Need more-- Not enough blue…”

 

“That sounds like lyrium,” Cullen frowned.

 

“Does it? But lyrium’s song doesn’t sound like that.”

 

Cullen smiled up at the boy. “No, it does not. But what you described feels exactly like what dosing with lyrium feels like.”

 

“Pain and pleasure?” Varric asked curiously.

 

“There’s a reason for the addiction, Varric.” Cullen frowned at the map. “The only population centre through which lyrium is transported in that direction is Redcliffe.” Why was Cole picking up the sense of drinking lyrium, though? He looked up at Cole thoughtfully. “Get your things, Cole. Perhaps we’ll get a clearer sense of where to go when we head south east.”

 

“You will come with me?” Cole asked. “All of you?”

 

“Sure,” said Varric gently.

 

Cole was silent, he stared at them and turned away, leaving the rotunda.

 

“Alright,” Varric said to Solas. “I get it, you like spirits. But Cole came into this world to be a person, let him be one.”

 

“If we can help Cole without changing… what he is, we should do it,” Cullen said.

 

“I’m not saying we do nothing,” Varric replied. “But that ritual of theirs only works on demons, right?”

 

“This is not some fanciful story, child of the stone,” Solas said sternly. “We cannot change our nature by merely wishing.”

 

“You don’t think?” Varric said mildly.

 

Solas glanced at the door through which Cole had walked. “However we deal with the problem, we should find out what is interfering with the enchantment.”

 

“Get yourselves ready,” Cullen said. “If we can address this today, then we might as well.”

 

++++

 

It was night. They had spent the day on the trail. The closer Cullen, Cole, Varric and Solas rode to Redcliffe village, the more Cole felt certain this was the place to go. By the time they arrived in the village, the sun had long since set. They hitched their horses at a fence. Cole was looking around, his body bent and nervous. Solas, Varric and Cullen stepped up to the boy. “Lead the way, kid,” Varric said gently. Aside from the crickets that sung in the air around them, the village was quiet.

 

Cole nodded, walking forward through the empty village, their footsteps loud upon the winter dry grass. There were voices ahead. Cullen could just make them out. Two figures stood by the statue of the Hero of Ferelden, one a dwarf, one a man in patch-work armour. Something blue was handed over from the dwarf to the man. Even now Cullen recognized the blue glow. As they approached, the man turned to them and the dwarf hurriedly walked away.

 

“Can I help you?” the man said, turning to them.  

 

“You,” Cole hissed through snarled teeth.

 

“Cole--” Cullen began, but in a heart-stopping burst of smoke, Cole vanished from standing beside them. The man was pushed to his knees as the boy appeared above him, holding a blade that glinted in the moonlight.

 

“Kid!” Varric shouted. Cole’s dagger stilled.

 

“You killed me!” Cole growled, holding the man by his messy brown hair.

 

“What?” the man exclaimed, nervousness tugging at the edges of his voice. “I-I don’t even know you!”

 

“You forgot!” Cole cried. “You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire and you forgot and I died in the dark!”

 

“T-the spire?” the man rasped.

 

“Cole! Stop!” Solas snapped.

 

The man wrenched his head free of Cole’s grasp and fled.

 

“Just take it easy, Kid,” Varric said, stepping between Cole and the fleeing man.

 

“He killed me!” Cole snarled, his finger stabbing the air after the man. “He killed me and that’s why it doesn’t work! He killed me and I have to kill him back!”

 

“No one is killing anyone!” Cullen’s voice cut in. “Not until I understand what’s going on.”

 

“Cole this man could not have killed you!” Solas said. “You are a spirit - you have not even possessed a body!”

 

Cole seemed to shudder as he lowered his head, his face hidden by his hat. “A broken body,” he whispered. “Bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark dank… a captured apostate.”

 

Cullen glanced in the direction the man had fled. “Oh Maker,” he breathed, running his and over his face as the pieces fell into place in his mind.

 

“They threw him into the dungeon of the Spire in Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death.” Cole looked up, his eyes wet with tears. “I came through to help, but I couldn’t. So I became him. Cole.”

 

Silence settled over them, Varric shaking his head in pity. “If Cole was an apostate, then the guy we just saw…”

 

“Was a Templar,” Cullen said quietly, his voice laden with shame by association. “I wish I could say this was uncommon, but it isn’t. Despite all the procedures in place to prevent such things, Templars do make such… lapses. It did not make it any less tragic. I am so sorry Cole…”

 

“Let me kill him” Cole growled, striding foward. He seemed to hesitate then, his footsteps stilling. “I need to… I need to.” The boy stood by the statue, quivering with suppressed rage.

 

“We cannot let Cole kill the man!” Solas hissed.

 

“I don’t think anyone was going to suggest that, Chuckles,” Varric said quickly.

 

“Cole is a spirit. The death of the real Cole wounded him, perverted him from his purpose. To regain that part of himself, he must forgive!”

 

“You don’t just forgive someone killing you.”

 

“You don’t. A spirit can.”

 

“Look, the Kid’s just angry! He needs to work through it.”

 

“A spirit does not work through emotions. It embodies them.”

 

“But he isn’t a spirit anymore, is he? He made himself human and humans change - the get hurt and they heal. He needs to work it out like a person.”

 

“You would alter the essence of what he is, Varric.”

 

“He did that to himself when he came through from the Fade. I’m just trying to help him survive it.”

 

“This will not be the only pain he faces,” Cullen said. “There will be more. Can he keep on forgiving, Solas? Even without you there to guide him?”

 

“He is a spirit. He can.”

 

“Can he? In his world? With people like that Templar?” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Call me a cynic, but I do not see how a pure spirit like Cole can remain untainted. I would rather he grow than be corrupted.”

 

“I was not aware your knowledge of spirits was so deep, Inquisitor,” Solas’s eyes narrowed.

 

“It’s not, Solas. You’re the expert on that and I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But I want what’s best for Cole. My father used to say it is the trees that bend with the wind that survive the storm.”

 

“Leave it to me,” Varric said.

 

“No killing,” Cullen said.

 

“Don’t worry, Curly.”

 

“I’ll go with you,” Cullen moved to follow Varric after Cole. He glanced over his shoulder. “Solas?” he said to the elf. Solas shook his head barely perceptibly and remained by the statue.

 

Cullen sighed inwardly.

 

“Alright, Kid,” Varric said, patting Cole’s arm. “You want revenge? Come with me.”

 

They caught up with the Templar at the end of the path, the lake stretching out before him after a steep drop. The frightened man spun around to see Cole stalking up the path after him, Varric and Cullen at his side. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” the Templar blubbered helplessly.

 

“Sorry isn’t going to help him now, is it, Kid?” Varric said loudly.

 

“No.” Cole growled.

 

Varric drew Bianca and cocked her, her arms springing open like drawn claws. The dwarf put the crossbow in Cole hands. “Varri-” Cullen began warningly, but Varric waved him quiet.

 

“Pull the trigger and put him down like a mad dog,” Varric growled, Cole’s finger wrapping around the trigger as the boy took aim. “Do it!”

 

“No!” The Templar begged.

 

Cullen’s jaw tightened as he watched, his heart almost echoing as Cole hesitated for what seemed like an eternity. The arrow flow then, aimed high into the sky over the Templar’s head. Cole lowered the bow and screamed, the rage pouring out of him. The Templar sank to his knees, his eyes wild.

 

Varric gently took the crossbow back from Cole.

 

“Do you feel better?” Cullen asked the boy.

 

“No,” Cole wept.

 

“You can’t make it all just go away,” Varric said. “I learned that the hard way.”

 

Cole’s shaking hand reached out to the Templar. “Forget--”

 

Cullen’s hand reached out and gently lowered Cole’s. “No,” Cullen said. “He needs to remember. As do you.”

 

“Come on, Kid,” Varric took Cole’s arm, leading him away from the quivering Templar.

 

Once they were away, Cullen turned his burning gaze upon the man. “You failed your charge - there were protocols! You let them slide and a child paid the price!” Cullen growled.

 

“What would you know--” the man began.

 

“I served as Knight Commander! You will not question me,Templar!” Cullen’s words cracked like a whip in the air. The man all but stood to attention. “Now you’re scrounging lyrium off Carta, hiding in Ferelden from the Orlesian Order… For Maker’s sake, pick up your feet and do something to make yourself worthy. You have your life today - remember that you should have died. Don’t waste it.”

 

He turned from the Templar, hating that he felt this angry facing a man he once would have called brother. How low had the Templars fallen, even before the Mage Rebellion. He rejoined the others at the statue. “We’re done here,” he said. “Let’s get back to Skyhold.”

 

“For all we know, the amulet will not never function,” Solas said as they rode out of the village, Cole lingering behind, not looking up as his horse followed the others. “Cole remains vulnerable to binding.”

 

“No, he isn’t,” Varric said. “The amulet didn’t work because he’s too human, right? Maybe now the kid’s also too human for that binding magic to work on him.”

 

Solas looked ahead as he rode, his eyes lost in thought. “I hope you’re right,” the elf murmured.

 

“It still hurts,” Cole said plaintively from behind them. “When do I stop hurting?” Cullen felt his heart go out to the boy. There was so much Cole was going to learn about the world, but at least Cullen felt confident now that Cole could grow to endure it.

 

“It will take a while,” Cullen replied truthfully, slowing his horse to take Cole’s reigns from his unresisting hands, leading the boy’s horse along. “But having friends with you helps.”

 

Cole looked up at him, his eyes vulnerable. “The Left Hand misses a friend with two different names. She’s hurting, sad, alone, but…” Cole looked down at his hands. “Everyone can see me now. They remember. How do I put honey into Leliana’s wine without her noticing?”

 

“Let me handle that,” Varric smiled.

 

“It is good that he’s not entirely changed, however human he becomes,” Solas said.

 

Cullen looked at the boy thoughtfully as they rode on. Cole had brought him back from the brink twice now. He owed the boy so much. But that wasn’t the only reason he felt for Cole. Cole was innocent, kind without thought, compassionate to all. Perhaps that was because of his nature as a spirit, but it would be foolish to write off such a precious rarity in the world. The world could use more Coles in it, and probably fewer Cullens and his Templar ilk. He looked ahead, his mind made up. “Perhaps a change of plans, gentlemen…”

 

++++

 

Before, he only knew of this place as one where the Banns would come to enjoy boating on Lake Calenhad in the summer, and view the snows of the mountains in the winters. It was called Calenhad’s Crown, a lavish restaurant of stuccoed sandstone built over the waters of the lake. Its red roof tiles blazed in the brilliant autumn sun, winter coming slower in the Bannorn. The Crown was appointed in the most tasteful of Fereldan styles with a little Orlesian ornamentation snuck in. Solas and Varric had gone ahead to Skyhold. As Cullen and Cole rode up the gravel path littered with golden leaves, Cullen couldn’t help but feel a little enticed by the prospect of dining here. Even though, it was for Cole.

 

“Is this fun?” Cole asked.

 

“Well, honestly,” Cullen said with an embarrassed little laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve never eaten here before. I thought you might want to try it with me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because your company would be nice. We’re both commoners. I suppose we could try to dine in public without embarrassing ourselves in front of nobles we know.”

 

They dismounted at the door, two liveried grooms coming forward to take their reigns. A man in fine black velvet bowed low to them, the large red feather in his cap nearly touching the gravel. “Inquisitor,” he said. “You honor us with your presence.”

 

Cullen was a little surprised, yet relieved. It would have been hard to explain why they were dining in armour. “We have the finest booth available for you and your guest,” he gestured for them to follow him. “Perhaps a selection of our finest cheeses for you and your guest?”

 

“I don’t eat,” Cole droned. Cullen smiled awkwardly.

 

“Then perhaps a bottle of a nice Ghislaine white to start with,” the maitre’d went on, not missing a beat.

 

Cullen was impressed.

 

They were seated at a booth that was blocked off by the tall, plush chairs. Beside them, the wall opened to a view of the lake, sunlight dancing off the waters as the breeze tugged at Cullen’s fur.

 

Cullen sat back, and the maitre’d came once more with a bottle and two crystal wine glasses. With a flourish, he set the glasses down on the table, then opened the wine bottle with great aplomb and ceremony, pouring the wine with the bottle resting on the crook of his arm. Then Cullen swore he tossed it in the air for a moment before setting it down on the table. “Please enjoy your meal this afternoon, your worship,” he bowed and walked away.

 

“Why is he dancing with the bottle?” Cole asked, blinking curiously.

 

Cullen laughed. “I have no idea,” he said, lifting his glass and taking a sniff of the wine. “Well now,” he beamed appreciatively and took a sip.

 

“He could see me,” Cole said. “They can all see me.”

 

“That’s a good thing,” Cullen said. “Next, you’ll be eating and drinking and everything else.”

 

Cole tilted his head. “What else is there?”

 

Cullen chuckled into his wine glass. “The privy will be enlightening.”

 

Cole reached out hesitantly and touched the glass, saying nothing.

 

“How do you feel?” Cullen asked Cole curiously.

 

“Odd. More. Everything feels more. It didn’t before, but now…” He frowned slightly under his hat. “I find people when their pain leaves them open. I ease the pain. I leave, they forget. That was enough for me. Now they remember, and I’m not sure…” He froze, staring ahead. And then he started to laugh.

 

Cullen raised an eyebrow as Cole’s laughter rose. He blinked. “Cole?”

 

Cole smiled at him. “In the Spire, there was a mage who could see me. His name was Rhys. He was my friend. My only friend… for a long time.” His finger touched the glass almost idly. “Evangeline showed me that Templars could be kind, but even she…” Cole sighed.

 

Cullen laughed a little awkwardly. “Is this going to get dark, Cole? Because--”

 

“Because this is a fine Ghislain,” Cole mimiced his voice. “And I do not want to see it ruined.”

 

Cullen looked at him helplessly. Perhaps humour was ill advised.

 

“Quick words belie a gentle heart,” Cole said softly. “You watch me walk into darkness over and over and you always worry.”

 

Cullen smiled ruefully. “So do you,” he said quietly.

 

“This isn’t about them,” Cole went on. “When I found out I wasn’t human, when I grew, I lost Rhys. I lost my only friend. That’s why I was scared about letting all these people see me. That’s why I laughed.”

 

“You’re laughing at yourself?”

 

“Yes.” Cole looked down, his face obscured by his hat. “This world taught me that changing means losing your friends. But now I know that doesn’t have to be true.” He looked up with a smile brighter than Cullen had ever seen. “I have enough self to know that what I felt was foolish. Isn’t it wonderful?”

 

Cullen chuckled. “You’re surprisingly cheerful for someone who learned they were wrong about something.”

 

“I might like being human,” Cole said slowly, brightly. “What do you think I’ll learn next?”

 

“Well, try the wine and we’ll see.”

 

++++

 

Cullen stumbled into the main hall, the roar of fires from Varric’s fireplace sounding loud in the quiet of the keep at night. He sighed in relief to see the dwarf there. “Varric!” Cullen hissed. The dwarf turned and gaped at the sight of Cullen, holding a very limp Cole, who was barely hanging on to him, and a barely touched bottle of wine.

 

“Andraste’s ass!” Varric exclaimed, rising from his chair, dropping the papers he was holding on the table. “What did you do to the kid, Curly?”

 

“He’s fine! Um, just, ah, very drunk.” Cullen glanced away and cleared his throat.

 

“It’s all spinning…” Cole smiled, his eyes glazed, his finger drawing circles in the air.

 

Varric raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I should get mad or be impressed at you,” he chuckled then.

 

“Look, I had no idea this was going to happen, alright?” Cullen grated. “He only had half a glass!”

 

“Laughing, wicked, playing with daisies, just like Hawke,” Cole sang, flopping over in Cullen’s grip. “I like wine.”

 

“No more wine for you, ever, Cole,” Cullen said firmly. Cole snored in response.

 

“Well, if he’s going to feel human, I guess this is a good a start as any,” Varric laughed.

 

“Keep it down,” Cullen hissed. “Solas is going to very pointedly scowl at me if he finds out. Get his legs. Help me get him to bed.”

 

“Right,” Varric said, grabbing Cole’s legs and lifting them as Cullen hooked his arms under the boy’s armpits. “Lead the way.”

 

Cullen stared at Varric. “I don’t know where Cole sleeps,” he said hollowly. “I thought you would.”

 

Silence fell between them. “Did he even really sleep before?” Varric asked evenly.

 

“Not that I know of,” Cullen said through grit teeth. “And therein you find the crux of my problem right now. I’ll thank you for not laughing, Master Tethras.”

 

“Perish the thought, oh Dread Inquisitor,” Varric said, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.

 

Cullen sighed in quiet suffering. “Just… be helpful, if you please!”

 

“Let’s get him to the battlements - there’s this room above the Rest, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

With Cole slung between them, they descended the stairs from the main hall and crossed the courtyard. Cole snored lightly. Cullen was glad someone was relaxing, at least. Climbing the battlements while trying to balance Cole was no easy task. The Rest was already locked and closed for the night, they had no choice but to use the battlement stairs. By the time they got to the top, Cullen was sweating.

 

“You’re getting old,” Varric panted as they set Cole down on the stones at the top of the battlements.

 

“You’re in no better shape, dwarf,” Cullen said, wiping the sweat from his brow, his hand still gripping the neck of the bottle. The tower that adjoined the Rest was right behind them. “Watch over him, I’ll get the room ready.”

 

Catching his breath, Cullen walked over to the door and opened it. Cullen’s body stilled at the door, his mind shutting down as the scene before him assaulted his eyes.

 

“Fasta vas!” Dorian squeaked from the bed. Tied to the bed. Tied very creatively to the bed.

 

“Oh, sweet..” Cullen’s eyes travelled downwards in inexorable curiosity. “...Maker.”

 

“Cullen! How’s it going?” Bull asked breezily.

 

“Well?” Varric asked impatiently, coming up beside him.

 

Varric stopped. Varric stared. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

 

“No,” Cullen droned, staring.

 

Dorian started spitting curses in Tevene from his prone position.

 

“Can I help?” Cole slurred, wobbling up behind Cullen and Varric and peering over Varric’s head.

 

“NO!” Cullen wasn’t sure who did the yelling, but by the time the door shut firmly behind them, Cullen had his hand over Cole’s eyes, with Varric clapping the boy’s mouth closed. They rushed the boy away from the tower until Cole sank to the battlements once more, snoring with a blissful smile on his face.

 

Cullen and Varric paused to catch their breath. Without a word, Cullen uncorked the bottle of wine and took a long swig. He passed it to Varric who did the same. They said nothing for a while, standing over Cole gently snoring. “I feel so inadequate all of a sudden,” Varric muttered.

 

“Same,” Cullen took another drink. “You’re lucky you’re a dwarf, at least. You know what they say about dwarves.”

 

“Why?” Varric took the bottle, raising it to his lips. “What do they say about dwarves? Dwarves don’t know.” He wiped the wine from his lips.

 

“They say you have… you have… big...” Cullen stared at him. “...Feet?”

 

“Yeah? Yeah? Do you know how much we spend on shoes?”

 

They looked down. Cole was gone.

 

“Shit!” Varric exclaimed. Cullen said nothing, saving all his energy for panicking. They craned their necks, looking for the boy. Cole stood on the parapet at the far end of the battlements, his arms out as he wobbled, walking daintily across the stones. Cullen’s heart stopped as he nearly choked on his tongue.

 

Cullen and Varric scrambled to him, grabbing the boy and pulling him back down. They tumbled to the floor of the battlements, Varric holding up the bottle of wine as he clung to Cole’s waist. Cullen grabbing Cole with both arms and a leg.

 

“I regret every decision I’ve made today!” Cullen grated, breathing hard as his heart wound down from a terrified stoccato.

 

“We need to get him to a bed before he kills himself,” Varric droned, his eyes wild. “And us.”

 

“North tower,” Cullen said, pulling himself to his feet, keeping a firm hold on Cole.

 

“Right,’ Varric said, grabbing Cole’s legs.

 

They carried the boy to the north tower, unofficially used by the guards who walked the battlements in the day. There were tables and chairs within, some piled with casks and cups and loaves of bread. There was a small cot against a wall. They gratefully rolled Cole onto the bed. The boy curled up and snored, the rim of his hat curling under his head.

 

Cullen and Varric stared down at him, catching their breath.

 

“You know what I find amazing?” Varric asked.

 

“What?” Cullen rasped, his throat dry.

 

“His hat didn’t fall off.”

 

Cullen stared at Varric for a long moment. The dwarf wordlessly handed Cullen the bottle. Cullen took another long drink.

 

“More?” Varric asked. “I got a cask.”

 

“Maker, yes.”

 

++++

 

Come the morning, Cullen, Varric and Cole sought solace and a hot breakfast at the Rest. All three stared blearily into their porridge, eyes rimmed and dark, faces pale. “When does it stop hurting?” Cole asked plaintively, holding his head.

 

“It’s called a hangover, Kid,” Varric said, patting him on the arm. “It’ll go away by tomorrow, tops.”

 

“I don’t remember what happened,” Cole said.

 

“Consider yourself lucky,” Cullen groaned, dipping his spoon into the porridge.

 

The door to the rest slammed open. Cullen, Varric and Cole shared a collective wince at the noise. Cassandra strode in, every footstep a booming hammerfall in Cullen’s head. “Seeker… Seeker, walk softer…” Cullen pleaded.

 

“What in Andraste’s name happened to you three?” Cassandra asked, an amused smile on her face.

 

“Bad decisions,” Cullen said.

 

“Eye trauma,” Varric supplied.

 

“There were bunnies,” Cole added.

 

Varric and Cullen turned to stare at him incredulously.

 

Cassandra raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Well, regardless,” she said, setting a map firmly on the table, making them wince. Cullen leaned away from the sound of her thunderous voice. “The Commander’s forces have found the Seekers. Caer Oswin, Cullen. Bann Loren’s lands.”

 

“Of course,” Cullen said, holding up a mollifying hand. “I heard you, you needn’t shout. We’ll leave to investigate today.”

 

Varric groaned then, burying his face in his hands. “Bianca’s in the Hinterlands too,” he reminded. “Remember? You spoke to her the other day?”

 

Cullen sighed. There was no rest for those in pain, it seemed. “Yes, of course…” he whispered. “We’ll go to Caer Oswin, we’ll go to the Hinterlands. Just please, everyone, stop talking so loudly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Cullen gains a new baby brother.


	34. Those Who Seek

Cullen found it a great blessing that Bann Loren’s lands were not difficult to get to from Skyhold. Cassandra, Varric and Vivienne rode down the pass and managed to arrive at Bann Loren’s silent keep by late afternoon after a hard ride. Cullen’s Forder was sweating under him as they dismounted, hitching their horses in a thicket, out of sight from the main road. 

 

“Ugh, it’s too bright for this,” Varric complained as they climbed the rocky path to the keep.

 

Cullen only grunted, his head splitting, his mouth perpetually dry and his stomach still twisting. Ghislain white and Hirol’s Lava Burst were not good combinations. He hadn’t even erased the memory of Dorian and Bull. 

 

“It appears our Inquisitor is feeling a little delicate this afternoon,” Vivienne smiled. “Perhaps I should brew him a tincture later.”

 

“Will it help?” Cullen asked. 

 

“You’ll throw up everything you imbibed, for certain. Including last week’s meals. But I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

 

“I’ll pass,” Cullen muttered. 

 

“Truly? Well, I’m sure this feeling is absolutely worth the enjoyment you had last night.”

 

“It wasn’t enjoyment,” Varric pointed out. “It was a concerted effort to drink ourselves blind.”

 

“I hope you didn’t succeed,” Vivienne said, long golden sunlight shining off her hennin. “I would hate to have to scrape an Inquisitor and his blind dwarven archer off the floor of a crumbling Fereldan keep.”

 

“You are a hard woman, Madame de Fer,” Cullen sighed. 

 

“Where required,” Vivienne agreed cooly. 

 

She was right about one thing, Cullen mused as they looked up at the keep. The castle was in dire need of repairs. Stone from the battlements had tumbled to the ground and rolled onto the path approaching the keep. A gutted tower lay open to the dying sunlight and abandoned worktools littered the path. Mortar mixed up in vats had hardened into stone. Cullen had the impression that Bann Loren’s fortunes had seen better days.

 

“Odd that the trail should lead us here,” Cassandra said as they approached the keep. “Bann Loren is a pious, unassuming man. What has he become involved in?”

 

“It’s possible that he’s a victim,” Cullen said tersely. 

 

“Let’s see what lies within,” Cassandra’s voice was hard. 

 

They stopped at the door. “There aren’t any guards keeping watch,” Cullen heard Varric saying. His head felt like someone was hammering on the inside of his skull. He drew his sword. Hitting things would be quite pleasant right about now. “How are we supposed to get in--” Varric began. Cullen pushed open the door. “Or, there’s that.”

 

Cassandra and Varric drew their weapons as well as Cullen led the way into the keep. There was a guard sleeping by the door, his arms cross as he sat slumped on a rickety wooden chair. “Is that a Seeker?” Cullen asked Cassandra, barely keeping his voice down. 

 

“No,” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. 

 

The guard snorted awake, clumsily reaching for his sword and shouting, “What are you-” 

 

Cullen’s fist swung like the hand of the Maker. The guard spun and crumpled to the ground with a noisy clatter. 

 

“There goes stealth,” Varric said as cries of alarm erupted in the room beyond. 

 

“I hate guards sleeping on the job,” Cullen grated, drawing his shield. 

 

The fight within was short and brutal. The soldiers, though well armoured, were clumsy in their technique. Vivienne barely had to cast at all as Cullen and Cassandra cut them down. Cassandra kicked the last of the soldiers off her sword. “Promisers,” she growled. “I should have known.”

 

“What are they?” Varric asked. 

 

“The Order of Fiery Promise is a cult with… strange beliefs about Seekers. They’ve hounded us for centuries.”

 

“What strange beliefs?”

 

“They say they are Seekers - the only rightful ones. They say we robbed them of their powers, preventing them from ending the world.”

 

Varric stared at her. “What…?”

 

“The only way evil will truly be eradicated in their eyes,” she said, swiping the blood off her sword. “The world will be reborn a paradise. It’s all nonsense.”

 

“Great,” Varric sighed. “Just once I’d like to go out and meet normal people.”

 

“That will make them easier to kill, at least,” Cullen muttered.

 

“You’re pretty bloodthirsty when you’re hungover, Curly,” Varric noted. “I should probably keep that in mind.” 

 

Cullen sighed. “This explains why the Seekers might be here,” he said. “But not their connection to Corypheus.”

 

They continued on through the keep, cutting down Promisers wherever they came across them. The keep was largely empty, with enemies spread out and few, and not well trained, Cullen was glad to note. 

 

“The Promisers have much to answer for,” Cassandra growled. Their path took them to the upper ramparts, opening up to what looked like the roof of a stable. 

 

“What kind of idiot designs a keep like this?” Cullen frowned in puzzlement. “This makes no sense?”

 

“No, but it helps us plenty,” Varric said, gesturing for them to stand down. He drew Bianca, setting the crossbow on his shoulder and squinting down the sights. Cullen saw the courtyard below them, shaded in cool blue shadows by the walls surrounding it. The area was patrolled by four guards who had not yet seen them. “Madame Vivienne, cover him,” Cullen said, “pin down the ones who try to charge us.”

 

“Of course, darling,” Vivienne smiled, crouching beside Varric, her staff held low. 

 

Varric aimed for a breathless moment before letting the bolts fly. Fletching sprouted from the neck of a soldier with his back to them. As the others turned, the bolts pierced their heads through the slits of their helmets. Another charged them, running for the ladder until he burst in a flash of frost. Vivienne lowered her hand. The man shattered. 

 

“Nice work,” Cassandra said in admiration. 

 

“I try,” Varric said, the arms of Bianca springing back.

 

“Not bad, considering how you were falling over last night,” Cullen added as he sheathed his sword, heading to the ladder. 

 

“I suppose I deserve that for the ‘bloodthirsty’ comment,” Varric sighed heavily, slinging Bianca over his back.

 

They slid down the ladder into the courtyard. Cassandra walked to the corpse of one Promiser with a bolt in his eye. She bent and rifled through the man’s waist pack. She stilled as Cullen moved to join her, her hand emerging with a folded parchment. She stood up, reading from it. “As the Seekers of Truth have proven resistant to the effects of red lyrium, the Elder One has seen fit to place them in your care,” she read, pointing to the letter, her frustration barely concealed in her voice. “Reclaim your destiny, and know that the Elder One expects your devotion as repayment.” She crushed the letter in her hand. “Signed by Magister Calpernia, Leader of the Venatori.”

 

She rounded on Cullen. “Does Corypheus not realize the Promisers want the world to end? What use are they to him?” she growled. 

 

“They sound like a match made in heaven,” Cullen shook his head. 

 

Cassandra snorted. “I suppose they do at that. But this doesn’t explain how they captured the Seekers in the first place, or what’s been done with them.”

 

“It does explain why the Seekers haven’t numbered among the Red Templars,” Cullen said, taking the crumpled letter from her grasp and reading it over himself. Calpernia was more ruthless than they thought, to send the Order here to… what? Die? Be imprisoned? “How is this possible, Cassandra?” he asked her. “The Seekers use abilities similar to Templars, but you don’t have any need for lyrium. And now it appears you even have a resistance to red lyrium as well. How do you come about these powers?”

 

“There are rituals,” she said, her dark eyes narrowed. “But for our abilities to give us resistance to red lyrium… that seems strange. It would make us useless to Corypheus. He would have no leash to hold us.”

 

Cullen met her gaze, seeing the tightness in her eyes, the barely concealed turn of her lips. Cassandra always seemed a stern woman to many, but he had never seen her worry. Not once. She was always so assured in the face of madness. Not even the tear in the sky had unravelled her. Yet here she was… “We’ll find them, Cassandra,” he said firmly. “We will do all we can.”

 

Her jaw tensed. “Thank you, Cullen,” she said quietly. “The Seekers are my family.”

 

As the Templars were once mine, Cullen thought, his heart heavy as they headed on through the keep. Even through the throne room of the keep, Cullen saw no evidence of Bann Loren or his family. They climbed the stairs from the throne room, their weapons drawn. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that the Bann still lives,” Vivienne said drily. “Such a shame.”

 

They emerged in a hallway near the upper reaches of the keep. Smoky torches illuminated a figure in the distance, slumped against the wall, the orange glow of the flames falling over the man’s face. Cassandra gasped softly, running to the figure. “Daniel!” she breathed kneeling beside the man. “Daniel! Can you hear me?”

 

“Cassandra, you’re alive...” the man whispered, his voice hoarse. When Cullen saw the sight of the man’s sallow, veiny skin under the torchlight, he knew something was wrong. The wall behind the man was a mass of red, slimy film that throbbed disconcertingly. It was familiar. As was the piles of red masses around them. Cullen knew these things. He knew they were once men, before they were ravaged and consumed by demons. Cullen has seen it first hand. His grip on his sword tightened. 

 

“As are you,” Cassandra said. “I’m so glad I found you.”

 

“No, they…” Daniel winced, every word an agony. “They put a demon inside me - it’s tearing me up.”

 

Cullen felt his heart sink. Sometimes, he hated when he was right.

 

“What?” Cassandra gasped. “You can’t be possessed! That’s impossible!” 

 

“I’m not possessed,” Daniel croaked. “They... fed me things, I can feel it growing.”

 

Cullen looked at Cassandra. “I’m sorry, Cassandra,” he said softly. 

 

“The Promisers will pay for this!” Cassandra snarled. 

 

“No,” Daniel gripped her hand weakly. “The Lord Seeker. You have to find him.”

 

“Of course,” Cassandra replied. “If he lives, we--”

 

“Lucius betrayed us, Cassandra,” Daniel hissed. “He sent us here, one by one. ‘An important mission’, he said - Lies! He was here with them all along! He’s still working with them!” 

 

“Could be Envy?” Cullen asked. 

 

“No.” Daniel looked up at Cullen through red swollen eyes. “The demon came later. He let the demon take command while he…” 

 

“Came here,” Cassandra’s voice was hard.

 

Daniel’s grip on her hand tightened. “Don’t leave me here like this,” Daniel begged. “Please…”

 

Cullen caught her gaze, sympathy in his eyes. He stepped away from them. There was only one thing that would bring Daniel peace, and he knew it. He heard soft words exchanged, kindness in Cassandra’s voice. Then he heard the steely hiss of her sword, and one last grateful sigh. Cassandra stood up, her rage hardening her like steel in a forge. “He was my apprentice,” she said, her sword dripping with blood. “I have never known a finer young man.”

 

When she turned to them, her eyes glinted in the firelight. “Now we find Lord Seeker Lucius.”

 

“We’ve scoured the lower part of the keep, he can’t be far off,” Cullen said. The hallway led out to the top of the keep, battlements overgrown with grass, tattered banners tossed in the wind fluttered in the sky. What few Promisers there were, Cassandra felled like wheat before the scythe. Cullen barely got a cut in. He glanced at Varric and Vivienne. “It would be wise if you stayed with her,” Vivienne murmured cooly as Cassandra pulled her sword out of a dead Promiser. “Seeker Cassandra’s skill is legendary. I would hate to see her go berserk.”

 

“Better you than us, Curly,” Varric muttered. 

 

Cullen said nothing and led the way ahead, Cassandra walking next to him, her anger bound like a coiled spring, ready to unwind at the slightest provocation. Their path took them to the highest tower of the keep. Cassandra all but kicked in the door. There, as expected, was Lord Seeker Lucius, standing with three Red Templars in the last dregs of sunlight spilling over the top of the battlements. If Cullen needed confirmation that the Lord Seeker was working for Corypheus, he had it now.

 

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra said, her voice steady and cold. 

 

“Cassandra,” Lucius said, turning to them, an ancient tome held in his hand. The man was identical to the Lord Seeker Cullen met at Val Royeaux. So perfect was Envy’s learning. If Lucius hadn’t let the demon take over, perhaps the Templars would not have been lost. “With a man I can only presume is the new Inquisitor.”

 

“Destroying the Seekers of Truth, allowing a demon to take command of the Templars,” Cullen growled. “You must be very proud of your handiwork.”

 

The Lord Seeker chuckled softly. “I suppose you know we Seekers were once the original Inquisition,” he said smoothly. 

 

“As were the Templars,” Cullen snapped. 

 

“Refreshing,” Lucius laughed. “A Templar who knows his history. Oh yes, Inquisitor, I know what you once were. We Seekers and Templars once fought to restore order in a time of chaos long ago, as you do now. We sought to remake the world, to make it better.” He scoffed. “But what did we create? The Chantry. The Circles of Magi. A war with no end.”

 

“And your answer to that is helping Corypheus?” Cullen demanded. 

 

“Corypheus is a monster with limited ambition,” Lucius waved his hand dismissively. 

 

“And your ambition is so much greater,” Cassandra growled. 

 

“We Seekers are abominations, Cassandra,” Lucius said quietly. “We created a decaying world and fought to preserve it even as it crumbled. We had to be stopped. Don’t believe me? See for yourself.” He held out the tome. “The secrets of our Order, pass to me after the last Lord Seeker was slain.” He pressed it into Cassandra’s hand. “Though the war with the mages had already begun, it was not too late for me to do the right thing, Cassandra.”

 

“Lord Seeker,” Cassandra glared at him, pulling the book and her hands from his. “What you’ve done…”

 

“I know,” Lucius sighed heavily as he stepped away. “What Corypheus has done to the Templars does not matter, I have seen the future!’ 

 

Cullen raised his sword in anger before he even realized it, but Lucius just went on. “”I have created a new order to replace the old! The world can end so we can start anew - a pure beginning!” He held his hand out to her. “Join us, Cassandra!” he crowed. “It is the Maker’s will.” 

 

Cassandra’s blade lashed out without a word, an arc of golden light striking at the Lord Seeker’s head. It rang against the man’s sword that blocked her strike. Cullen’s shield blocked the blast of red lyrium fired at her side, the battle erupting around them. Varric’s shots took down one Red Templar as another’s arrows fired uselessly against Vivienne’s barriers. Cullen rushed the third, leaving Lucius to Cassandra. She deserved the man’s blood more than Cullen did, though he yearned for it. Cullen’s blade caught the Red Templar’s strike, parrying it and opening the man’s defence for him to strike at the Red Templar’s neck with his shield. As the Templar staggered back, spitting blood, Cullen drove his sword into the man’s face. When he pulled it out, something bumped against his leg. He turned to see Lucius’s head, gaping up at him and covered in blood. 

 

Cassandra walked up to him, picking up the tome she had dropped. Cullen kicked the head out of his way. “He was insane, he had to be,” Cassandra said, swiping the blood from her sword. “Perhaps the Envy demon’s influence? Remove the Lord Seeker so it could take over the Templars?”

 

“Then I should have taken my time sawing its head off,” Cullen said coldly. 

 

“Slightly terrified of those two right now,” Varric muttered in the distance. 

 

“He could not have destroyed all of us!” Cassandra said vehemently. “I won’t accept it!” 

 

Cullen looked down at the book in her hands. “There are others out there, you Seekers were never as centralized as we were.”

 

She looked up at him almost gratefully. “Let’s go,” she said. “We have a dwarf to meet as well.”

 

“That’s right,” Cullen said, looking at Varric who sighed wearily. “Let’s go join Bianca.”

 

++++

 

The nights by the campfire was harsh. Cassandra said little as they camped at the foot of the Hinterlands, in the gutted barn of a farm. The roof had burned away, probably during the Mage Templar war. But the walls still stood, offering some shelter from the winds coming off the mountains. The last three days of travel had been exhausting. After pitching their tents and a meagre dinner, which Cullen took upon himself to put together, Varric broke out the bottles. Cassandra went to her tent with the tome and a troubled frown, while Vivienne bade them goodnight. In the quiet of the barn, crickets singing in the fresh grass around them, the sound of Varric’s brandy swilling in the bottle was oddly loud. 

 

Varric glanced at him and held out the bottle questioningly. 

 

Cullen smiled faintly, poking the fire with a stick. “You sure? You look like you need it more than me,” he said. 

 

“Come on, Curly, misery is better with company,” Varric waved the bottle. 

 

Cullen reached out and took it. It was hard to believe that he found himself actually fond of the dwarf that made him pull his hair out in frustration years ago in Kirkwall. “Where’d you even get the bottle from?”

 

“Ah… somewhere. Think I stole it off someone when we were coming through Redcliffe.”

 

“I find your blasé admittance to casual pilferage oddly disturbing, dwarf.”

 

“Speaking of which, do you want your coinpurse back?”

 

Cullen’s hand darted to his belt. 

 

“I’m just kidding,” Varric chuckled. 

 

Cullen shook his head in resignation. He took a drink of the brandy and shuddered. “Maker, that’s... “ he winced. “Actually not very good.”

 

“The labels faded,” Varric said as Cullen handed him back the bottle. “Probably paint thinner.”

 

“You tell me that after I take a sip?” 

 

“I’m sure it’s fine. It’ll put hair on your chest, trust me.” 

 

“Stop rubbing it in,” Cullen rolled his eyes. 

 

“Maybe have more, Giggles will thank me.”

 

“I think she likes my chest just fine, thank you. Even if it’s nowhere near the shag carpet yours is.”

 

Varric laughed. “Shag. Shag carpet. I’m going to keep that one.” He leaned back on his hands, stretching out his legs to the fire. He looked up at the stars and sighed. 

 

Cullen looked into the fire for a moment. “So…” he said. “Should I alert Eve to look out for assassins?”

 

“Might not be a bad idea,” Varric said. “But don’t worry. Even the Merchant’s Guild will think twice about tangling with you.”

 

“She seems like a nice girl.”

 

Varric sighed heavily. “You had to go there.”

 

“Sorry,” Cullen winced. “Let’s talk about something else.”

 

“Nah, it’s fine, good to get things off my chest anyway.”

 

“Your shag carpet.”

 

“Hah! Right. You know she made my crossbow?”

 

“I… guessed as much.”

 

“I hope she’s happy with what’s-his-face.”

 

Cullen looked at Varric. “She still cares about you.”

 

“You think?”

 

“I don’t think she came out here against her family’s wishes just to see your pretty face, Varric.” Cullen sighed, tossing the stick into the fire. “Stop me if I’m saying too much,” he went on. “But to have loved and lost and never let go… that’s hard. You must have spent a while kicking yourself, I know I would. But you picked up your feet and kept going. You’re the weirdest, most cheerful dwarf I’ve ever met.” He smiled at Varric. “I think that’s pretty amazing what you did. Makes me almost glad I didn’t arrest you way back when.”

 

Varric burst out laughing. “Yeah, I was wondering about that,” he said. “Aw, Curly. Are you getting all sensitive on me?”

 

“I’m always sensitive,” Cullen said loftily. “I have the heart of a poet.”

 

“Where do you keep it?”

 

“In my footlocker,” Cullen grinned. 

 

Varric laughed again. “Well then, I guess I should thank the Seeker for dragging me out here.”

 

“You know what else I find weird? That quite a few of your companions came into contact with you through arrests.”

 

“Well, I am but a humble storyteller, sadly misunderstood by many soldier types in authority.” Varric passed the bottle to Cullen. “Thanks, Curly.” Cullen gave the dwarf a grin and took a sip from the bottle, regretting it the instant the liquid touched his tongue. 

 

It was a while later that Varric had finally drunk himself to sleep. Cullen took the first watch, which he didn’t mind. It was peaceful and warm, the firelight reflecting off the weathered wood of the barn walls. Something moved in the distance, rustling the grass. Cullen loosened his sword from its scabbard. Two lights lit up, illuminated by firelight, coming closer. 

 

Something in the grass mewed. Cullen rolled his eyes and set his sword in the scabbard. “Maker’s breath,” he sighed and settled back down. The creature approached, tiny with patchy fur in brown, black and white. Two blue eyes watched him, brilliant orbs fixed on him as the kitten’s tiny tail twitched. 

 

It mewled. 

 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. 

 

It padded around the fire, sniffing hopefully. The creature really was tiny. Cullen remembered the barn cat that used to live on his father’s farm. The beast was scarred and evil. It used to terrify him as a child. He stared at the cat approaching him. “Be gone with you,” he said. 

 

The kitten mewled again. The wretched thing looked ragged and thin. It mewled hopefully, lifting up on its hind legs and patting his leg with a tiny paw. Its blue eyes radiated innocence, probably totally contrived, Cullen suspected. Actually, that contrived innocent blue-eyed gaze rather reminded him of someone. He smiled faintly, reaching into his waist pack. All he had was some strips of dried meats. He broke off a small piece of one and handed it to the cat. 

 

It - she, he noticed - pulled the piece from his grasp and started to gnaw on it, miniature fangs flashing in the firelight. “Aren’t you positively terrifying?” he said, scratching the kitten behind the ear as it polished off the last of the meat. It looked at him again. “I don’t think you can eat that stuff. It’s pretty salted.”

 

It mewled insistently. 

 

Cullen stared at those eyes. Those damn eyes in that furry cute face. He broke off another piece. “No more.” 

 

The kitten ate that piece too. Then, apparently satisfied, she wobbled over beside him and lay down next to his hip, curling up on the cloth of his shawl. Cullen stared down at it. It shivered.

 

With a groan of resignation, Cullen picked up the kitten and tucked it into the folds of his shawl. “Maker’s breath, if you pee in there, I will never forgive you,” he said to the kitten as he felt it turning in the folds of the cloth and settling against the warmth of his body. 

 

He’d let it out in the morning, he decided. So it could go back to its mother or something. In the morning. 

 

He didn’t.

 

++++

 

The return to Skyhold was less than cheerful. Cassandra had often been lost in thought since Caer Oswin. Varric’s jokes became worse, probably a coping mechanism, Cullen suspected. They dismounted at the gates of Skyhold as the last dregs of sunlight were fading from the sky. Cullen saw Evelyn jogging up to him. She glanced curiously at Cassandra who walked off without a word, heading to the forge. “I’ll see you later, Curly,” Varric said. “Just… I might be drunk again.”

 

Cullen smiled faintly. “Well, put it on my tab then.”

 

Varric chuckled. “You’re a true friend.” He pat Cullen on the arm and headed off. 

 

Cullen handed the reigns of his horse to a groom as Evelyn reached him. “Sombre bunch,” she said, leaning up to kiss him. He pecked her lips, but she was having none of that. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him properly. 

 

“Evie, we’re in public!” he chuckled against her lips.

 

“So what?” she kissed him again, running her hands through his fur. “Everyone knows anyway.”

 

“You’re impossible,” he said, taking her hand. It was good what they had. Simple and good, and he was grateful for it every time he came through those gates with her waiting for him. “I also have a confession to make.”

 

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with curiosity. “What?”

 

“Actually, it’s been rather quiet, I hope it hasn’t died or something,” Cullen said in sudden realization. 

 

“What?” Evelyn blinked, more perplexed than ever. 

 

Then it mewled. She gasped. “Oh good, it’s alive,” Cullen sighed in relief. 

 

“Where is it?” she breathed. 

 

Cullen reached into his robes and pulled the little kitten from its comfortable sleeping spot. He winced as she squealed, covering her mouth with her hand. “Is it for me?” she asked breathlessly. 

 

“Yes - if you want her, of course,” Cullen replied. 

 

She gasped, holding her cheeks. “It’s adorable! It’s tiny!” 

 

He held the cat out to her. She looked up at him a little nervously and held her hands out to the cat. She grasped it awkwardly at first, then cradled the cat against her chest. It mewled, nuzzling her neck. She cooed, kissing it. It was too adorable. She was going all to pieces over a kitten. He smiled, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword as he watched her. She held up the cat and gazed at it. It gazed back somberly for a moment, then touched her nose with its paw. “Cullen,” she said then, her voice quivering as she looked up at him with liquid eyes. 

 

Cullen stiffened. “W-wait,” he sputtered. “Are you-- crying?”

 

“Yes!” she sniffled, tears running down her cheeks. 

 

“Why?” Cullen exclaimed. 

 

She drew a sharp breath, her chest heaving as she hugged the kitten. “It’s so cute!” she wept. 

 

Cullen gaped at her, utterly perplexed. “Wha…?” he managed. 

 

She bit her lip, looking at him angrily then. “Why did you make me cry in public?” she cried. “I love you so much!” And she ran from him, sobbing, holding the kitten close to her. 

 

Cullen stared after her as she fled to her office. He could feel the amused glances of the people around him. “What... just happened?” Cullen blinked. He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. At least he should get out of everyone staring at him. He shook his head and headed for the safety of the stable. That was not quite the reaction he was expecting. He wasn’t sure if she was happy or not. Stability. Sanity, he needed a little bit of that right then. 

 

He saw Blackwall standing by his brazier, looking thoughtfully into the flames. 

 

“Inquisitor,” Blackwall said, looking up when Cullen came in. 

 

“Blackwall,” Cullen greeted. “It’s been a while.”

 

“You’re looking a little harried.”

 

“I just made Evelyn cry,” Cullen winced. 

 

Blackwall raised an eyebrow. “How?”

 

“I… gave her a kitten,” Cullen blinked. 

 

Blackwall chuckled faintly. “Ah, well. Women show happiness in odd ways.”

 

“That’s the Maker’s own truth.” 

 

Blackwall turned back to the flames, his eyes troubled. Cullen got the impression that something was bothering the man. “Fancy a drink?” Blackwall said suddenly. “I’ve a hankering for company.”

 

“I won’t say no,” Cullen replied.

 

They headed to the Rest, Blackwall walking in silence. Something was wrong. They took a private booth on the second floor of the tavern, far from the laughter and jocularity of the area near Maryden. Blackwall ordered Chasind Sack Mead. Cullen settled for a light ale. He was drinking way too much these days. 

 

When the drinks came, Blackwall stared into his cup, then out the window beside them at the courtyard of the keep. 

 

Cullen waited in silence, sipping his ale. 

 

“When I was a boy,” Blackwall began then, not looking at Cullen. “There were these urchins who roamed the streets near my father’s house. One day, they found a dog. A wretched little thing… it came to them for food. They caught it, tied a rope around its neck and strung it up.” Blackwall turned his dark eyes to Cullen. “Do you know what I did?” 

 

Cullen set down his ale. “You cut it down?” 

 

Blackwall’s face changed entirely, a look of shame and sorrow coming over him. “I did nothing,” he growled. “Not a damn thing. It was crying - I saw the kicking legs, the neck straining and twisting… and I turned around, went inside and closed the door. I could have told my father, or alerted someone. I didn’t. I just pretended it wasn’t happening.”

 

Cullen took a deep breath, wondering what Blackwall was leading up to. “You were a child--”

 

“I was old enough to know the dog was suffering and it was wrong!” Blackwall growled. “I might as well have tied the noose myself!” He took a long drink of his ale and set the flagon down hard. He wiped the froth from his mustache with the back of his hand. “We could make the world better, it’s just easier to shut our eyes.”

 

Cullen leaned back. This was heavy stuff. “I agree,” he murmured. “But we all strive, Blackwall. It just takes some of us longer to get started. Nothing worth doing was ever easy.”

 

Blackwall chuckled. “Look at you,” he said. “You would have done the right thing. We’re lucky to have people like you in the world.”

 

Cullen sighed. “No,” he said slowly. “I wouldn’t have. I would have turned away just as you did. I did turn away. And it wasn’t dogs that suffered. It was mages, people.”

 

“What changed you?” Blackwall asked. 

 

“A realization,” he said softly. 

 

“What realization?”

 

“That I’m being a bastard,” Cullen replied. “I’m putting people in… I was the sort of person I--” Cullen sighed heavily. “I don’t know how to explain it. But… the Inquisition is my chance to atone for a lot of wrongs I wilfully turned a blind eye to.” He took a long drink. Suddenly, he wished he had ordered stronger stuff. “We all take a while to wake up and do the right thing, Blackwall.”

 

“But come the finish, it’s all the same, isn’t it?” Blackwall asked. “There’s always some dog out there, some fucking mongrel too stupid to stay away.”

 

“We do what we must, then,” Cullen said. 

 

Blackwall looked up at him, a rueful smile on his face. “Yeah… we do what we must.”

 

++++

 

The forge was silent at night, though the fires were still lit and banked. Cullen wasn’t even close to drunk. Blackwall had fallen into silence, bade him a strangely final goodnight and made his way to the stables. It seemed as if the war were taking its toll on many. Besides Cassandra, Cullen made a mental note to check in on Evelyn as well, hopefully she had calmed down by then. 

 

He climbed the stairs to the mezzanine of the forge, where Cassandra often spent her time when she wasn’t training. He found her at a table, bent over the tome, her expression troubled in the dull light of the forge. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps and sighed. “This tome has passed from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker, since the time of the old Inquisition,” she told him. “And now it falls to me.”

 

“Dry reading, I take it?” Cullen said, sitting down opposite her. 

 

“On the contrary,” she smiled faintly. “I’m riveted.”

 

“I gather there are quite a few salacious secrets?” he smiled back. 

 

“Utterly scandalous ones, worthy of Varric’s tales.” Her smile faded as she rubbed her hands, her expression growing troubled once more. “It has much to do with the Rite of Tranquility, Cullen.”

 

Cullen frowned. “What does it say?”

 

She sighed heavily. “I always thought it a necessary evil, despite the abuses we’ve had to investigate. But now, I am not so sure. What finally began the Mage Rebellion, what started it all… was the discovery that the Rite of Tranquility can be reversed.”

 

“What?” Cullen exclaimed, sitting forward. “That’s-- that’s impossible!”

 

“So we were always told.”

 

“That can’t be true, Cassandra! The Templars would have heard of it. Meredith would have been the first to act if that were the case.”

 

“The Lord Seeker at the time covered it up - harshly. There were deaths. It was dangerous knowledge. The shock of its discovery in addition to what happened at Kirkwall…” She looked down at her hands. “But… it appears we have always known how to reverse the Rite. From the beginning.”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “The number of dangerous mages that were contained with the Rite - we even allowed Tranquil among the populace. Maker, why didn’t the Seekers tell us this? If the Templars and the people were still at risk all the while…”

 

“What alternative did you have, Cullen? Knowing that the rite was reversible, what would you have done?”

 

Cullen fell silent, staring at Cassandra’s glittering dark eyes. “Death,” he admitted, shame clawing at him. He knew the repercussions of that change. The war would have spiralled out of control. “I think I understand the need for secrecy.”

 

Her gloves hissed as she rubbed her hands together. “We… created the Rite of Tranquility, if you recall. It came from the Seekers.”

 

“That I know.”

 

“And our Vigils… Templars do not require as much preparation, since you rely on lyrium for your powers. You prepare for a few weeks, take the vigil and pledge yourself to the Maker. It is a pale shadow of the Vigil Seekers must endure… I spent months emptying myself of all emotions. I was made tranquil, Cullen, and I didn’t even know it.”

 

Cullen’s eyes widened, his face pale. “But then-- how--”

 

“The Vigil involves prayer with mages and Seekers. A spirit of Faith was summoned to touch my mind, breaking my tranquility, granting me my powers.”

 

“By the Maker,” Cullen ran his hand over his face. “This is… This is why you need no lyrium. This is why you can do everything we can. The Spirit sustains you.”

 

“It is also why I suspect that your Templar powers are not as faded as you think,” she added. “Any force of magic can be channeled with our techniques. Even your mark, I suspect.” 

 

Cullen looked down at his hand involuntarily. Could she be right? He’d never tried any Templar techniques since Therinfal…

 

“But the Seekers did not share this secret,” Cassandra went on. “Not with me, not with the Chantry, not even--” She drew a breath and stood up, turning to the window behind her. She sighed heavily and continued, her back to him. “There’s more. Lucius was not wrong about the Order. I thought to rebuild the Seekers once victory was ours. But now…” She leaned her arm on the window sil. “Now I’m not so certain.”

 

Cullen was silent. The Seekers were always… there. They were always the ones who watched, the ones who sought the truth of the Maker. The Templars feared and admired them. But dangerous secrets were wilfully hidden, leashes of gilt and gold bound Seeker and Templar both - Faith and lyrium. 

 

“Were we necessary, Cassandra?” Cullen asked. “Templars and Seekers both. Would the world have been better off without us?”

 

“It would have been the Imperium all over again,” Cassandra said. 

 

“We don’t know that.”

 

“Do you dare find out?”

 

Cullen’s jaw tensed. “No.” He sighed heavily. “I can see our purpose. I don’t see how we’ve achieved any measure of success, however.”

 

“No, both our Orders seem to have failed. We forgot the will of the Maker and fought to sustain ourselves instead. Power becomes its own master. We cast aside ideals in favour of expedience and tell ourselves it was all necessary - for the people. We acted to survive, rather than to serve. We harboured secrets and let them fester. This is not the will of the Maker.”

 

“What is the will of the Maker?” Cullen ran his hand through his hair. 

 

“That is why we have to seek it out!” Cassandra said firmly. 

 

Cullen looked up at her. The Templars would never cease to exist as long as the Circles remained, the Chantry would pick up the remains of the Order and sustain it, being the Chantry’s most prolific military arm. Without the oversight of the Seekers, would the model work? Who would watch the watchmen?

 

“Cassandra,” he said softly. “The Templars will require oversight. We are a human organization trying to do divine work. There will be lapses. Cole suffered because of foolish lapses. Anders, too. I can name so many others. We need an ideal to look up to - perhaps a new and better order of Seekers? We could do with closer collaboration.”

 

She turned away from the window, her smile warm. “You know, we might be the closest a Templar and a Seeker have ever come to working together.”

 

“Ah, I’m not a Templar any longer. You may need to find a better person to fill that role. I recommend Ser Barris.”

 

She chuckled. “Thank you, Cullen.”

 

++++

 

“Cullen!” Evelyn squealed the minute he stepped into her office. She held the kitten in her hand, donned in only a tunic that looked very familiar. He shut the door hurriedly when she bounded over the desk and hopped down in front of him, her legs flashing in the air, bare feet patting the stone. 

 

“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” he exclaimed. 

 

“I’m getting ready to sleep,” she grinned. “Look at her!” 

 

She held up the kitten to him. It was wearing a ribbon already. It mewled in resignation, looking at him almost accusingly for having to endure dress-up. He gently moved the cat aside. “Is that my tunic?” he blinked. 

 

She looked down at herself. “Yes,” she laughed, blushing slightly. “I patched it up. Waste not, want not.”

 

“Odd turn of phrase for a noble…”

 

“It turns me on to wear it.”

 

Cullen laughed. “Sweet Andraste,” he grinned. Well, that was a nice sentiment. He looked at the cat. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. You gave me quite a scare.”

 

She chuckled a little sheepishly. “I, uh, never had a cat before,” she admitted. “Or any pet. So… I think I was a little overwhelmed.”

 

He smirked at her, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. 

 

“She needs a name.”

 

“Cat will do.”

 

“Honestly, Cullen!” 

 

“Mouser?”

 

She rolled her eyes and stepped up to him. “Come upstairs,” she said archly, nudging him with her hip. “Let’s put our baby to sleep and I can… thank you properly.”

 

She headed to the ladder, climbing up with the cat perched on her head. Cullen’s smile broadened as he moved to follow her up the ladder, his eyes inexorably drawn upwards to her climbing ahead of him as he took in the sight of her… everything, really.  

 

“I know you’re looking at me, down there,” she called down. 

 

“I-I was not!” Cullen blushed at being caught. 

 

The ghost of her laughter carried out the window of her loft as, moments later, the light of the lamps were extinguished, the windows turning dark.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a good idea to bring home a cat, Cullen. You'll regret it soon...


	35. Blackwall

Cullen swatted his hand, blearily aware that something was prodding his nose. He turned onto his back, his arm draping over his eyes. Something rough, tiny and wet started to rub against his nose. He drew a deep breath, blinking awake. The kitten licking him in the nose. “Maker’s breath!” Cullen grunted, pushing the cat off his face and turned on his side. Evelyn giggled beside him, lying on the bed in her armour, holding a quill in her hand. It was still dark, was she doing? “Stop it, Eve,” he grumbled, snuggling down under the blankets. The kitten mewled as it jumped for the quill’s feathered end, landing on Cullen’s cheek. “Eve!” Cullen growled, pulling the blanket over his head. 

 

She giggled. “Nyanquisitor commands you to wake up,” she said. 

 

“Do you know what time it is?” Cullen said from under the blankets. “Nyanquisitor can kiss my arse.”

 

“She’d rather kiss your nose. It’s such a grand, big nose.”

 

“I do not have a big nose!” The cat mewled from somewhere above the blankets. Cullen lowered the blanket from his head. “Nyanquisitor?” he asked her evenly. 

 

“She likes the name.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Cullen said finally, pulling the blanket over his head. He felt a quill tip at his fingers, then the pawing of the cat at his hand. “Evelyn,” Cullen growled, swatting away quill and cat. 

 

She giggled and sighed. Cullen felt the cat lifted off his fingers. “Come, Dread Nyanquisitor,” she said loftily as he felt her sitting up on the bed. “Cullen is cranky before his waking time. We have drills to get to.”

 

Cullen felt an inkling of guilt then. He really should… train. He sighed, pushing the blanket off his head. “Andraste preserve me,” he sighed blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked down then as the kitten awkwardly climbed onto his lap, mewling up at him. Cullen tried to resist that wide-eyed gaze, but failed. He scratched the cat behind the ear. “Is this really your first pet?” he asked Evelyn.

 

She crawled over to him on the bed, kissing his stubbled chin. He turned his head to her lips and kissed her. “My second.”

 

“I thought you said--”

 

“I had a big, big lion before this one.”

 

Cullen stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. “You mean like a real--” He groaned when the penny finally dropped. “Oh, har har. Funny.” 

 

She grinned and scooped up the kitten from his lap. “Wake up, love,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Come train with me. We need more than one way to work up a sweat.”

 

“We are not calling the cat Nyanquisitor.”

 

“If you beat me at sparring, I’ll be willing to discuss it.”

 

“Was that a challenge?” Cullen asked, shocked. 

 

“I don’t know, is it? I’m not the one who’s lazing about before drills, naked in a lady’s bed.”

 

“By the Maker, you have some mouth on you,” Cullen laughed. 

 

She stood up, tucking the cat on her shoulder. “You weren’t complaining last night, love,” she beamed as she headed to the ladder. “Quite the contrary. Come join us quickly. Try to grab Blackwall if you can. I’ll get the Bull and Seeker Cassandra. Let’s go, Nyanquisitor!”

 

“We’re not calling it Nyanquisitor!” Cullen insisted. 

 

“Can’t hear you!” Evelyn cooed, sliding down the ladder. 

 

Cullen shook his head with a smile. Evelyn was happy with that cat, even if she was being a little irrational about it. He found it odd that someone would grow up without any pets of their own, but then again, he was a farmboy. “Nyanquisitor, honestly,” Cullen sighed, heading to the basin to wash his face. Once he was properly awake and dressed, he headed down from Evelyn’s loft. He went to the stables, looking for Blackwall. 

 

“Warden?” he called up into the dark stables. The horses nickered at him, roused from sleep. “Sorry,” Cullen muttered despite himself and went to the stairs leading to the hayloft where he supposed Blackwall slept. There was a bedroll in the corner, Blackwall not being one for comfortable living. Cullen frowned. The bedroll was not slept in. Blackwall’s armour wasn’t there, neither was his swords or packs. 

 

He descended the stairs again, seeing a stablehand forking some hay into the horses’ stalls. “Have you seen the Warden?” Cullen asked the boy. 

 

“No, ser, not since last night,” the boy bowed. 

 

Cullen looked down and saw the wooden griffon Blackwall had busied himself carving. A folded parchment was pinned to it. He pulled it free and read it. “Cullen, You’ve been a friend and an inspiration. You’ve given me the wisdom to know right from wrong and the courage to uphold the former. It has been an honour to serve you,” Cullen read. “What?”

 

He found his feet taking him up the stairs to the rookery. He passed Varric’s empty table and Solas’s unfinished paintings. A steely dawn light spilled in through the windows when he got to the top, birds croaking all around him. 

 

Leliana looked up at him from her work desk. “Cullen,” she smiled. “You are up unusually early.”

 

Cullen winced. “I take it I’m the only one who sleeps till sunrise, these days?”

 

“Not really, Varric doesn’t usually wake till noon,” Leliana chuckled. 

 

He set the letter in front of her. “I found this at the stables,” he said. “And the Warden was nowhere to be found.”

 

She looked down at the letter and seemed to sigh softly. “Ah.”

 

“What do you know Leliana?” Cullen asked. 

 

“He could have gone hiking up the mountain for flowers for Josephine,” she said. 

 

Cullen blinked. “He does that?”

 

She chuckled softly. “Oh yes, it’s so romantic.”

 

Cullen stared at her. “What does that have to do with this letter?” he pressed. “Come on, Leliana, you know everything.”

 

“Not everything,” she smiled faintly. “Yet.” She turned away and went to a pile of papers. She ruffled through it until she finally pulled out the one she needed. “This was missing from last week’s reports,” she said, handing the paper to him. “It was later found in Blackwall’s quarters. I don’t know what interest he has with this, but it might be a good place to start.”

 

Cullen read it. “The Callier Massacre?” he asked her. 

 

“An Orlesian noble family was massacred to a man,” Leliana replied. “The ones responsible, those who survived, are still being hunted.”

 

“The ones responsible? This Captain Thom Rainier, I presume. If this Cyril Mornay is to be hanged…” Cullen frowned. He paused then, remembering Blackwall’s words the night before. There’s always some fucking mongrel too stupid to stay away… “Is Blackwall going to save him?” 

 

Leliana looked at him thoughtfully. “I do not know what he intends to do,” she said slowly. “But he is a good man.”

 

Cullen’s jaw tensed as he read the report once again. “I’ll be gone for a while, Leliana,” he said. “I’m taking the Commander for security detail. I don’t know what Blackwall intends to do, but there may be repercussions.”

 

+++++

 

It was raining when they entered the city of Val Royeaux. Cullen was followed by Cassandra, Varric and Dorian, with Evelyn stationed at the Inquisition garrison within the city, ready to take command should things got out of hand. There was a crowd gathered for the execution, as there always was. People always came out in droves to see death, especially for the deserving. It was a good life lesson, the country people thought. Bring the children.

 

Cullen shouldered his way through the crowd, the rain running down his face, his fur dripping already. He could hear the rain pinging off Cassandra’s armour and shield. They had been briefed on their mission - to find out Blackwall’s intentions here at the gallows, and to bring him back, if they could. “Who is this man to Blackwall?” Dorian asked. “A brother? A friend?”

 

“Poor bastard,” Varric said. “I presume. Not like I can see anything.”

 

“Shall I get you a box?” Cassandra offered. 

 

“You know, that might not be a bad idea,” Varric said after a moment’s hesitation.  

 

Cullen saw the prisoner led up onto the gallows, a hollow shell of a man, scarred and dressed in rags. He looked nothing like a former lieutenant of the Orlesian army. The bailiff, in his mask of steel and padded tunic of Orlesian blue, read out the charges. For the killing of a duke, his wife, his children and their retainers, Cyril Mornay was to be hanged by the neck until dead. The man said nothing in his defence, only looking out at the crowd with empty, hopeless eyes, resigned to death.

 

Varric gave a low whistle at the charges. 

 

I could see its legs kicking, the neck straining and twisting, Blackwall had said. Cullen’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd. Guards by the gallows, none before the crowd, only a barricade. But guards stationed along the courtyard posed a challenge as well. Where was Blackwall? Had they been wrong?

 

The noose was lowered around Cyril’s neck as he was made to stand on the trap door of the gallows. “Do you see him?” Cassandra asked urgently. 

 

“No,” Cullen replied, blinking in the rain. 

 

“Do we save the man?” Dorian asked. “If he’s important--”

 

A voice thundered over the hiss of rain. “Stop!” 

 

Cullen saw a man at the front of the crowd throw his hood back, revealing a mass of dark hair. The man moved forward with an air of authority so unshakeable that the guards let him pass. It was Blackwall. He climbed the steps to the gallows, dropping his cloak to the ground, revealing his favoured griffon shield. 

 

“A Gray Warden,” the bailiff said. Cullen suspected it was that fact alone that stayed the man’s order to have Blackwall dragged off the gallows immediately. 

 

“This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him,” Blackwall said, facing the crowd. Cullen stilled, watching the scene, his hand on his sword should Blackwall’s life be in danger. “Orders were given and he followed them like any good soldier! He should not die for that mistake!” 

 

“Then find me the man who gave the order,” the bailiff demanded. “Or else get off this gallows, Warden.”

 

“Blackwall!” Cullen shouted from the crowd. A look of surprise crossed Blackwall’s face, which turned into pain as he turned to Cullen in the crowd. 

 

“I am not Blackwall,” he said to Cullen. “I never was Blackwall. Warden Blackwall is dead, and has been for years. I assumed his name to hide like a coward from who I really am.” The name on the report, the name of Cyril’s Captain…  

 

“You,” Cyril croaked in realization. “After all this time…”

 

Blackwall turned from Cullen and faced the bailiff. “It’s over,” he said. “I’m done hiding. I gave the order, the crime is mine.” Maker, no, Cullen prayed. “I am Thom Rainier.” Cullen stared at him, his hand lowering from his sword.

 

There were gasps from the crowd, but Cullen did not hear them. He turned away from the gallows, a dull bitter rage in his mouth, betrayal. Blackwa-- Rainier had lied to him all this while. 

 

“Cullen,” Cassandra said. 

 

“They’re taking Blackwall- Rainier away,” Dorian said. “Do we--”

 

Varric stopped the mage. 

 

Cullen could not reply, he dared not. He felt like he could bite through rocks, he was so angry. Blackwall had helped him flee in Adamant. Why? Because it was what Thom had done? Cullen thought the act a kindness, now he was not so sure. What he had done had been shameful, the most shameful thing he had ever done in his life. And Thom had helped him. Why? Because it was what he did? Because if affirmed his cowardice? Thom’s men had died while he hid as Blackwall. Blackwall knew that his men were dying. He must have, how could he not? And the real Warden Blackwall… what became of him? How did he die? Cullen had respected him! Looked up to him as an old soldier, a Warden, a confidant… a friend! It was all a fucking lie!

 

The Inquisition’s garrison was once a noble’s estate, now repurposed into a barracks and a training ground. The door to the captain’s office slammed open. In the cold light of the rainy day, the office was illuminated by a crackling fire in the hearth. Evelyn stood up behind the desk as Cullen pulled off his sodden fur shawl and dropped it on a chair. He leaned his hands on the table, his head hung low as he tried to calm down, tried to think straight through the red mists in his mind. 

 

“What happened?” Evelyn asked over him. 

 

“Warden Blackwall wasn’t who we thought,” Varric explained. “He’s Captain Thom Rainier, the man who led a platoon in the massacre of a noble and his family.”

 

“What?” Evelyn hissed. “Where is he?”

 

“We don’t know,” Cassandra said. “He was taken away by the guards.”

 

Cullen’s fist slammed on the table, silence falling like an axe. Cullen felt the mark sparking against the leather top of the table. He didn’t care. “Commander,” he growled through grit teeth. “Find him.”

 

“Understood, Inquisitor,” Evelyn said crisply and left the office.

 

“Leave me,” he hissed. He heard footsteps walking out the door and the latch clicking home as the door was shut. There was the sound of clothing rustling behind him. “I said leave me.”

 

“No,” Cassandra replied cooly. 

 

“Sweet Andraste,” Cullen growled. “Don’t, Cassandra.”

 

“I would rather stay in case you decide to cut up the furniture in a fit of rage.”

 

“He lied to me,” Cullen’s hands balled into fists on the table. “He lied to me, Cassandra.”

 

“He lied to us all.”

 

‘I… believed him! I looked up to him! I thought him a Warden and a good man. He let me run in the desert - why?”

 

“I do not know. Perhaps you should ask him.”

 

Cullen grit his teeth. “Fuck!” he shouted into the desk. “I nearly became that! How could he have hidden? His men were dying because of him! And I--”

 

“You came back,” Cassandra grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. “Do not forget that. You left no men to die on your behalf while you cowered under a false name like a coward. You are nothing like him!”

 

Cullen stared at her, her eyes glittering with her own suppressed anger. “I despise what he has done, but I know the difference between you and him.” Her voice snapped with command. “Do not presume yourself to be like Rainier!” 

 

Cullen’s jaw tightened. It was more than that. So much more. “He was my friend, Cassandra,” he croaked. 

 

“Don’t let that cloud the issue,” she said sternly. “You must do what is right.”

 

Cullen sighed heavily, his head throbbing. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maker’s breath,” he whispered. “How can Leliana not know this?”

 

“Perhaps she did,” Cassandra replied. “Do not waste time being angry. What is your immediate concern?”

 

“Find Bla- Rainier and talk to him,” Cullen replied immediately. “I need to know the situation that led him to this. If there is a reason… there’d better be a good one.”

 

The door opened. Evelyn stepped in. “A lot of people want to see him swing,” she said seriously. “He’s in the gallows prison off the marketplace, Inquisitor.”

 

Cullen ran his hand over his face. “Come with me,” he said to her. 

 

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Evelyn said, casting a glance at Cassandra. Cullen left behind his furs, opting for a dark leather cape and hood instead. Evelyn said nothing as she followed him through the rain-swept marketplace with two cloaked Inquisition soldiers flanking them. The winds tugged at the canvases of the stalls, rain falling practically sideways against his cloak. 

 

The guards by the prison blocked the door as they approached. “Don’t be foolish,” Evelyn said, moving her cloak aside to reveal the horse-head crest on her breastplate. “Admit the Inquisitor.”

 

The guards glanced at each other uncertainly and held the door open for Cullen and Evelyn to enter. The prison was dank and smelled of filth, little air came in through the barred embrasure windows. A fat gaoler sat at a desk, a guard behind his chair. He looked up as Cullen pulled his hood back, then the gaoler was on his feet. “Inquisitor!” he croaked. 

 

“I wish to speak to Rainier,” Cullen said.

 

“Ah, him,” the gaoler replied. “He’ll dance the hemp fandango come the morning. I can only admit one of you, however.”

 

“It will be enough,” Cullen said. He followed the gaoler to the gate that led to the cells. “You will not accompany me,” Cullen added as the rusty gate swung open. 

 

The gaoler looked at him uncertainly, but something in Cullen’s dark expression convinced him to nod his head fervently. “Wise choice,” Evelyn murmured.

 

“Last cell down the corridor, your worship,” the gaoler said as Cullen walked through. 

 

The cells were under the street. Light spilled in from grates in the ceiling, the floor wet with falling rain. There was once straw on the floor, but the rushes had long since rotted away in the wet and the filth. It stank like a sewer. Cullen walked along the driest path, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, his footsteps echoing in the corridor. Over the sound of trickling rain, Cullen heard breathing from the last cell. 

 

There he was, Blackwall, Rainier, hunched over as he sat on a wooden cot, his elbows resting on his knees. Cullen came to a stop outside the cell, rain dripping from his cloak. He stared at Blackwall, wanting to hit him, shake him, yell at him - anything to be rid of the bitter bile of betrayal. But Cullen said nothing, his eyes simply hard, as Blackwall did not look up at him, hanging his head in shame. 

 

As he should.

 

“I didn’t take Blackwall’s life,” Rainier said then, his voice hollow. “I traded his death. He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed. I took his name to… stop the world from losing a good man. But a good man - the man he was - wouldn’t have let another die in his place.”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you lie to me?” he asked. 

 

“I never meant to lie to you,” Rainier replied. “And when I did, I couldn’t take it back. You weren’t supposed to find me. You weren’t supposed to follow me, you were supposed to think I was gone. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

 

“You mean see the real you?” Cullen asked, his voice harsh. 

 

Rainier shook his head. “It’s time we all got a good look at who I really am, so take a good look, Cullen,” Rainier growled, standing up then, his face a mask of agony and regret as he grabbed the bars. “I gave the order to kill Lord Callier, his entourage and I lied to my men about what they were doing! I was paid to do it, but they thought they fought for Orlais!” He shook the bars in rage, his voice echoing in the corridor. “And when it came to light, I ran! Those men - my men - paid for my treason why I was pretending to be a better man!” 

 

Cullen’s eyes were hard, his face stern and impassive, torn between disgust and pity and self-loathing, how close he himself had come to this… But he was not the same. What Blackwall had done… was unforgivable. 

 

“This is what I am,” Rainier whispered as he sank to his knees in the cell, hands hopelessly gripping the bars. “A murderer, a traitor...  a monster.”

 

Cullen turned his head, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to control himself. 

 

“You let me go in Adamant,” Cullen said softly. “Why? Did you think we were the same?”

 

“No,” Rainier whispered. “You were… broken. You needed space to find yourself. I wanted you to have it. You were nothing like me. You were no coward. I knew you’d come back eventually, given time.”

 

Cullen looked at the wretched man, pity swelling in him. 

 

“You called me friend once,” Rainier said. “Wouldn’t it have been better if you thought I was a noble man? A Gray Warden instead of this? I would have saved you the pain of knowing all you knew about me was a lie. My one last regret...”

 

Cullen stared at him. All the words he had wanted to scream suddenly caught in his throat. Nothing he said would suffice. Bla-- Rainier had hurt him. Betrayed him. He turned away from the cell, he couldn’t bear it any longer. Rainier didn’t call out to him as he walked away. Cullen prefered it that way. 

 

The gaoler locked the gate behind him. Evelyn stood waiting, holding a sheaf of papers. “Dispatch came for you while you were talking, Inquisitor,” she said, handing him the papers. “Leliana’s report on Thom Rainier.”

 

“She had this all along after all,” Cullen took it, his eyes skimming over the words. 

 

“Is there more I can help you with?” the gaoler asked, rubbing his hands together. 

 

Evelyn cast him a look of disgust and tossed him a sovereign. “Find something to do elsewhere,” she commanded. 

 

“Ser!” the gaoler snapped to attention and left the antechamber. 

 

“Thom Rainier, former captain of the guard… turned traitor and persuaded to kill one of Celene’s biggest supporters,” Cullen read. “He led a group of fiercely loyal men on this mission and told them nothing of it. Many took the fall for him. A few lucky ones, like Mornay, escaped, only to be eventually captured and executed…” 

 

Cullen stared at the report. “He was telling the truth, come the finish,” he murmured. 

 

“Don’t blame yourself,” Evelyn said to him. “We all made this mistake.”

 

He said nothing, rolling the report in his hands, lost in thought. 

 

“What do we do now?” Evelyn asked. “Blac-- Rainier has accepted his fate, but you don’t have to. We have resources enough to have him released to us so you can pass judgement on him yourself.”

 

The paper crumpled under Cullen’s grasp. “What he did to the men under his command was unacceptable! He betrayed their trust - betrayed ours!” he growled. “I despise him for it!” He fell silent, the fire in his voice fading. 

 

It was Evelyn who voiced his thoughts. “And yet, he fought as a Warden, joined the Inquisition, gave his blood for our cause,” she said softly. 

 

Cullen shut his eyes. “Why did he do this?” he breathed. “The moment he shakes off his past, he turns around and owns up to it… why?”

 

Evelyn tilted her head, her damp hair hanging in sodden strands around her face. “Some part of you is impressed by that he did, isn’t it?” she asked setting a hand on her hip.

 

He drew a deep breath and nodded slightly. “Saving Mornay the way he did took courage, I’ll give him that.” But all that courage was for nought if Rainier died. 

 

He looked at Evelyn and saw her expression light up slightly. “What?” he asked her. 

 

“Your orders, Inquisitor?” she asked expectantly. 

 

“Have Rainier released to us,” he said, placing the report in her hand. “I want him back at Skyhold.”

 

+++++

 

“Running roughshod over the Captain of the Guard was unacceptable!” Cullen heard Josephine saying from beyond the War Room door. He looked up from the map, early for the morning meeting as usual. They had returned from Orlais the night before, once Evelyn had secured Rainier in the Inquisition’s cells in Val Royeaux. 

 

“His family served my mother’s,” Evelyn replied, pushing open the War Room door, entering with Josephine. Cullen was pleased to see her donned in her full armour. It was distracting to have meetings when she was in her bands. “I merely reminded him of old ties.”

 

“What’s going on?” Cullen asked. 

 

“The Commander upset some of the nobles when she pulled Rainier from Orlesian cells,” Josephine sighed. “We’ve received some strongly worded letters.”

 

“I’ll write to them myself later,” Evelyn sighed, sitting down at her chair. 

 

“No, please,” Josephine held up a hand. “I’ll write to them.”

 

Leliana entered then and sat herself down. Cullen steepled his fingers. “Let’s begin,” he said, ignoring Josephine’s somewhat surprised glance. “First, the issue of Thom Rainier. He is in the Inquisition cells, but not free, am I correct?”

 

“Yes,” Evelyn replied. “Despite the ruffled feathers, we are holding him there in faith.”

 

“I could ask for a dispensation from the crown,” Josephine suggested. “They may not be happy, but after Halamshiral, they owe us a favour.”

 

“A favour from the Orlesian crown is not to be triflingly spent. We could move him out of the city with our troops, but there... may be casualties,” Evelyn said. 

 

“I don’t want to waste that favour, neither do I want any more men to die for Thom Rainier.” Cullen looked at Leliana. “We know some people, don’t we, Leliana?” he asked. 

 

“Do we, Inquisitor?” she smiled faintly.

 

“There must be some… groups who want our favour. I can think of a few.”

 

“Asking those groups for assistance would mask the Inquisition’s involvement,” Leliana smiled. 

 

“What groups are these?” Josephine asked, looking puzzled.

 

“Underworld groups, I believe,” Evelyn supplied. “Carta and the like.”

 

“Send out the word, Leliana,” Cullen said.

 

“I will,” she said. 

 

“But asking such groups,” Josephine frowned. “If word ever got out…”

 

“They are professionals, and known for their discretion,” Cullen said. “I know the ramifications, Josephine. We will be as discreet as possible.”

 

“What are we going to say when the nobles here carry word that you’ve judged Thom Rainier who disappeared from the Val Royeaux cells?” Josephine asked. 

 

Damn. Cullen hadn’t thought of that. He looked at Leliana and Evelyn. That hadn’t occurred to them either, from the looks on their faces. “If we are going to maintain the legitimacy of the Inquisition, we must go through the proper channels,” Josephine advised. 

 

She had a point. Thank the Maker for Josephine. “Right,” Cullen sighed heavily. “Then we have no choice. Call in the favour.” He hoped Thom was… fucking worth it. 

 

“I also have an update for you, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “Based on the letters you found in Emprise du Lion and the Commander’s insider, we have managed to find the location of Corypheus’s Shrine of Dumat.”

 

“Good,” Cullen said tersely. He glanced at Evelyn. She had not spoken of Laurent for a long time. “Is Ser Laurent--”

 

“She’s fine, Inquisitor,” Evelyn assured him quickly. “She continues to send word from within the Red Templars.”

 

“Good.” He looked over the map. “Where is the shrine?”

 

Leliana set a marker on the map. 

 

“What intel do we have on the shrine?” Cullen asked, feeling his heart quickening at the foolish eagerness swelling in him. Blackwall was one thing… Samson… Samson was another. “Is Samson in there?”

 

“From what we know, he often is,” Leliana said intently. 

 

“What troubles me is the fact that Samson has found ways to make red lyrium from people,” Cullen frowned. 

 

“What troubles me,” Evelyn interrupted, “is the armour he’s making. Orders from the mine hint that he has managed to augment a suit of armour with red lyrium. It must give him extraordinary powers. Laurent writes that his armour glows with the stuff. With that and imbibing red lyrium, I’m not sure we’ll be able to stop him.”

 

“Destroy the armour then,” Cullen frowned. “We do that, he’s just another man.”

 

“On red lyrium? Shooting crystals out of his arse?”

 

“Alright, not just another man. Rather, he’s more like any other man.”

 

“How do we destroy the armour?” Josephine asked. 

 

“I don’t know,” Cullen looked at her ruefully. “Templars are trained not to destroy expensive magical equipment.”

 

“I’ve been working with Dagna,” Evelyn said. “She’s been studying the red stuff for me. It’s been… costly. I’ll forward all expenditure details to you later, Inquisitor, don’t worry.”

 

“Joy,” Cullen said drily. Budgets were the only numbers to put him to sleep. “What has she found?”

 

“A possible method Samson might have used to augment his armour. But we need more details on it. She is no Tranquil. We suspect the creator of the armour to be a man named Maddox.”

 

“Maddox?” Cullen blinked. “There’s a name I have not heard in years.”

 

Evelyn stared at Cullen. “You know him?”

 

Cullen sighed. “This is complicated…” He leaned back in his chair. “Maddox was a mage in Kirkwall’s Circle. Samson smuggled letters back and forth between Maddox and his sweetheart. Eventually, Samson was caught - that’s why he was cast out of the Order. Maddox was made tranquil for compromising the integrity of a Templar… Meredith wielded the brand for far less than that. The last I saw Maddox, he was eking out a living on Kirkwall’s streets.”

 

“Ugh!” Evelyn gave him a disgusted look and tossed some papers on the table in front of her. 

 

Leliana tittered and pat her shoulder in comfort. 

 

“What?” Cullen blinked. 

 

“I spent ages - and money - finding out everything you just said about Maddox!” Evelyn rested her cheek on her hand. “And all I had to do was ask you!”

 

“That’s not my fault you didn’t,” Cullen muttered a little defensively. 

 

“Well, regardless,” Evelyn said primly, still frowning in annoyance as she gathered the papers and straightened them. “We suspect Samson rescued Maddox from Kirkwall and they are now working together. We suspect that Maddox is the engineer of the armour and that he maintains it still.”

 

“Very astute, Commander,” Cullen said with a straight face, everything she just said in the back of his mind already.

 

“I think she just wanted to say that because she spent so much time finding it out,” Josephine grinned.

 

“That is correct,” Evelyn sniffed. 

 

“It was actually thanks to Evelyn’s lead on Maddox that we were able to track down the shrine,” Leliana said. “The armour required complex tools and resources that we could trace. We tracked some caravans escorted by Red Templars that led us to the Shrine. There, we also believe Samson is guarding something. A secret - the reason why Corypheus won’t let Calpernia enter despite her exalted status as disciple.”

 

“Then we depart come the dawn,” Cullen said seriously. “We must deal with Samson.”

 

“We must indeed,” Evelyn said, looking up at him. “With your permission, I would like to accompany you.”

 

Cullen met her gaze. She looked back at him coolly with those blue eyes of hers. “Samson still has that armour of his,” Cullen said. “It could be dangerous. If we meet him--”

 

“I’ll stab him repeatedly,” Evelyn said. “I know it’s dangerous. I would sleep better if I were at your side.”

 

Her gaze was determined, fervent. Yet there was affection to her voice that he was not expecting. He smiled faintly. “If your duties permit,” he said as happy feelings effervesced inside him. He was too lucky to run into Evelyn. She was more than he deserved. He wondered if his father had ever felt this way about his mother. “I would be happy for you to join us, pup. Now if we--” He picked up another paper and froze as the grins flared across the table. He blinked. 

 

“He is so Fereldan,” Josephine tittered. 

 

“Awe, I think it’s cute,” Leliana smiled. 

 

“What are we talking about?” Cullen stared.

 

“You just called me ‘pup’, love,” Evelyn smiled warmly at him, covering her grin with her stack of papers. 

 

“Uh,” Cullen looked away, the heat in his cheeks rising as Josephine and Leliana’s grins bore into him. “I was, um, my father used to-- nevermind. If we could get back to the matter at hand.” He coughed and seriously picked up the paper, staring at it. Then he turned it over because it was upside down. “Have we any more updates?” he asked, just wishing for the floor to open and swallow him up. 

 

“Just a few,” Josephine said as she looked down at her clipboard. 

 

By ‘a few’ she meant a few dozen. By the time the meeting wound to a close, it was late afternoon. As he headed out the main hall to the Rest for a meal, Varric waved him over. “Curly,” he grinned as Cullen walked over. “I got that thing that you wanted.”

 

“Why are you waggling your eyebrows at me?” Cullen asked. 

 

“Oh, for--” Varric rolled his eyes. “You have no sense of drama!” 

 

Cullen snorted. “Am I supposed to waggle back or…”

 

Varric sighed mournfully. 

 

“I mean, I could, but you’ll need to cue me for the waggle so I’ll--”

 

“Look, just forget about the eyebrows, alright? The book is done.” He held up a bound book with a rather rudimentary illustrated cover. 

 

“Finally!” Cullen exclaimed. “That took forever!” 

 

“How long do you think it takes me to write a book?” Varric asked. 

 

“I don’t know… Letters take me a couple of minutes.”

 

“And great literary masterpieces they must be at that.” Varric chuckled. “Now remember our deal.”

 

“I didn’t forget,” Cullen grinned. After the sting of Blackwall’s betrayal, Cullen needed this levity. “Let’s go find her.”

 

They found Cassandra at the stocks, training as she always was. She looked up when she saw Cullen and Varric approaching, then she stabbed her sword into the ground. She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she eyed the dwarf suspiciously. “What have you done now?” she asked. 

 

Varric sighed mournfully. “I get it, Seeker. You’re still sore after our little spat.”

 

It was Cassandra’s turn to roll her eyes. “I am not a child, Varric. Do not suggest I am without reason.”

 

“Cass,” Cullen said, a chiding hint in his voice. 

 

Cassandra sighed and set her arms on her hips. “Very well. What is it, Varric?”

 

Varric held out the book. “A peace offering: the next chapter of Swords and Shields. I hear you’re a fan.”

 

Cassandra gasped at the sight of the book. Then she glared at Cullen, her cheeks tinging pink. “This is your doing!” she cried. 

 

Cullen started to laugh despite himself and stopped immediately under her glare. “You can only re-read a book so many times before it begins to get strange, Cassandra!” He held his hands up placatingly. “Is it eight times?”

 

“Six!” 

 

Cullen snorted loudly and dodged away from of her punch at his arm. 

 

Varric shrugged. “Well,” he sighed, turning away, the book held nonchalantly over his shoulder as he started to walk away. “If you’re not interested, you’re not interested. Still needs editing, anyhow…”

 

“Wait!” Cassandra shouted after Varric, stretching her hand out. 

 

Cullen saw Varric’s smirk. The dwarf turned around. “You’re probably wondering what happens to the Knight-Captain after the last chapter.”

 

Cassandra gasped, her hand coming to her mouth. “Nothing should happen to her!” she cried. “She was falsely accused!”

 

Varric waved the book nonchalantly. “Well, it turns out the guardsman--”

 

“Don’t tell me!” Cassandra snapped, striding forward and grabbing the book from his grasp.

 

Cullen grinned at the dwarf as Varric smirked smugly, crossing his arms. “This is where you thank Curly,” Varric said to Cassandra, who was peering at the closed book with excitement in her eyes. “I don’t normally give out sneak peeks, after all.”

 

Cassandra bit her lip as she looked at Cullen, her eyes alight. “Thank you!” she breathed happily. 

 

“Thank Varric,” Cullen grinned. “Apparently, books take forever to write.”

 

She looked at Varric and sighed deeply. “Thank you, Varric,” she said then.

 

And Cullen was pleased. Finally, there was some official peace between these two, at least. 

 

Varric grinned. “Don’t forget to tell all your friends,” he said with a wave, but Cassandra wasn’t listening anymore. She had settled down on the stool beside the stocks, already opening the book. Cullen chuckled and joined Varric. “You were very smooth back there, Varric,” Cullen complimented. 

 

“Totally worth it,” Varric sighed happily. 

 

“I know what you mean.” Cullen jerked his head to the Rest. “Dinner? I have to pay off my tab while I’m there.”

 

“Much obliged!” Varric said as they walked to the Rest.

 

“How much did you put on my tab that day, anyway?”

 

Varric told him.

 

Cullen glared at the dwarf. “Dinner’s on you.”

 

“But I’m a poor storyteller!” 

 

“That is bullshit, dwarf. Dinner’s on you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that Inquisitor Cullen is two main story missions from the end... Holy crap. To explore more companion quests or not...


	36. The Shrine of Dumat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed for now. Lots of updates these past few days! Enjoy it while it lasts!

The Shrine’s gate was massive and imposing, ancient wrought steel that withstood the tests of time. The Shrine beyond was not so fortunate. Fires raged among the ruins, glowing red in the silver moonlight and casting dancing shadows. Beyond the sound of the fires, it was silent in the shrine. Not even crickets sang here. The standards of the Red Templars hung over the main doors of the shrine at the other end of the battered, rubble-strewn courtyard. Cullen stepped through the gates, Evelyn, Cassandra, Varric and Dorian following him. “This is it,” he said softly, “The heart of Samson’s command.”

 

“Except I don’t hear him,” Evelyn said, holding her massive sword low. “Or see him, anywhere.”

 

Cullen felt bitter disappointment at that. He sighed. “Nor I. Maker, tell me he hasn’t fled…”

 

“Only one way to find out,” Varric muttered, slinging Bianca off his shoulders, her arms springing forth. 

 

Cullen drew his sword and shield, Cassandra following suit. They walked in slowly, carefully, ready and wary of ambushes. 

 

“Dorian, what do you know about Dumat?” Cullen asked. 

 

“You’re asking me?” Dorian sounded surprised. “Just because I’m from Tevinter?”

 

“Is that too big a leap of logic?” Cullen said. 

 

Dorian smiled. “Not at all. He was an Old God. Each Old God had a high priest back then, Dumat’s being Coypheus. Beyond that, I don’t know much. I am a good Andrastean, after all.”

 

“That is a surprise,” Cassandra smiled. 

 

“Why? Because I’m Tevene?” Dorian’s mustache curled down in his affronted look. He looked like an extremely annoyed cat, to Cullen. 

 

“No, because I have heard you blaspheme when you drink,” Cassandra smiled. 

 

“Aren’t we being a little noisy?” Evelyn asked, her boots crunching over the scattered bits of columns and desert sand. 

 

“This is considered quiet for them,” Cullen replied, his sword at the ready. They approached the staircase leading to the main doors. They stilled as the doors opened ahead of them. 

 

A man emerged from the shrine and slammed the doors shut behind him. His armour was brilliant and burnished, white as snow and laced with red. Cullen knew that face, he had seen it before. “So! We meet again, Cullen! I’m surprised you’re still alive!” the Templar whined. 

 

Cullen sighed wearily. “Carroll. You idiot.”

 

“Don’t be too shocked,” said Carroll. “When I heard from General Samson you were coming, I volunteered. I am very close you see.”

 

“To what? A brain? That’s too much to hope for,” Cullen snapped. “Where is Samson?” 

 

“Not here,” Carroll smirked. “Shout up your schoolyard taunts all you like, Cullen. You’re not going to walk out of here alive. You’re going to have to kill me if you want to.”

 

“Why are we talking to him?” Varric asked, his eyes looking down the sight of Bianca. “Say the word and I’ll put a bolt in that whiney face of his.”

 

“What? All that love and friendship making you soft?” Carroll grinned. “You don’t know it, Cullen, but I’ve become powerful. Come on up here and test me! You used to beat me all the time in drills. Let’s try again, shall we?”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed, his eyes looking up at the walls behind Carroll. The mark was stinging behind his shield, flaring through the leathers of his clenched fist. Carroll was an idiot, but he was goading Cullen towards something. Evelyn groaned, rolling her eyes. “Oh, Maker, let me shut him up!” 

 

“Hold,” Cullen snapped, his voice snapping with command. They all stilled. 

 

“Why?” Dorian asked. 

 

“Because it’s a trap.”

 

Carroll’s face darkened then. “What gave it away?” he demanded.

 

“Carroll, you idiot!” Cullen snapped in frustration. “Don’t do this!” He did not want to kill the man. Or did he? Cullen wasn’t so sure now. On one hand, Carroll was a fellow survivor of the fall of the Fereldan Circle. On the other, the man was a victim of his own idiocy. Perhaps killing him might be a mercy. 

 

“We’ll see who’s an idiot!” Carroll snarled, raising his hand above his head, two hexagonal carvings high on the wall above him flaring with red then green fire. Cullen winced, his mark piercing his arm with pain to the elbow. “Demons!” Cullen warned as the air snapped, Fade rock bursting through the rifts in the carvings. 

 

Then Carroll held out his hand, his eyes flashing red. Cullen saw the crystals sprouting from Carroll’s arms. The crystal spread as Carroll started to scream to the sound of snapping bones. Carroll started to grow, encompassed by red lyrium over his body. He roared then, rising up, massive and glowing red from within, twisted from the red crystals that grew out of him.

 

The rifts flared now, creatures crawling out of the carvings, screaming and hissing with the promise of pain to come. “Spread out!” Cullen snapped, seeing Markham retreat into the shrine, grinning all the while. “Cassandra, keep that thing busy! Eve, Varric, with me - close the rifts first! Dorian, cover us!”

 

As if loosed from their bonds, they burst into movement, Cassandra charged the behemoth at the top of the stairs, Evelyn and Cullen charging up to the demons pouring from the rift to the right. One raised its claws to strike Cullen, but Evelyn’s blade nearly seared it in half. Cullen cut down another wisp, blocking its blasts of energy with his shield. He spun, his shield frosting over as a despair demon’s ray of cold fired at him. It exploded in a burst of  flame and flew off, screaming in agony. Cullen raised his hand to the rift. “Do it!” 

 

The mark flared to life, green fire flaring through his leathers and binding with the rift as more demons tried to come through. Cullen felt the mark pulling its power from him, a feeling he was familiar with now. He poured his will into the mark, the fire flaring brighter. Something swiped at his side, but its strike was turned away by a blade. Evelyn stood by him, her sword and armour covered with blood. Her sword flashed as it cut down a terror demon at the knees. Cullen saw the rift wavering and closed his fist, the demons crawling through screaming in agony as they were severed through the rift. With a final burst, the rift exploded, raining pieces of demons around them. 

 

He turned in time to see the fist of the behemoth in the air above him. Cullen rolled out of the way, rocks spraying his face and body as the fist of red crystal smashed into the ground. Cassandra rounded the fist and ran right onto it, charging up the arm, dodging the behemoth’s strike at her. She grabbed its head and plunged her sword into its eye. The behemoth’s side exploded in a bomb of frost, ice crystallizing over the red lyrium, freesing a joint. 

 

“Hang on, Cassandra!” Cullen shouted as he rolled to his feet, running past the behemoth to the other rift. 

 

“She’s amazing!” Evelyn shouted, following him, her eyes alight. “Hero of Orlais!” 

 

“Focus!” Cullen snapped, feeling a slight tinge of jealousy which he took out on a wisp, striking it back with his shield, the demon fading into the air. 

 

Evelyn dodged a strike from a terror demon’s claws, sliding between its legs as her sword arced through the air, slicing it open from crotch to stomach. 

 

Cullen blocked another burst of frost that flowed past him, striking Evelyn’s side. He charged the demon of despair, the ray of frost flowing over his shield, pushing him back, his muscles aching with cold. The demon turned to flee, Cullen pinned it against the wall and drove his sword through its face. The ground under him wavered green. Cullen pulled his sword from the demon’s face and darted back, but the terror demon burst through the ground, throwing him off his feet. Cullen rolled up as the creature threw its head back and screamed. The scream pulsed through him, shaking his bones and freezing his muscles, pain flaring from every joint. A skull of purple light and shadows flared in the air, the terror demon’s scream wavering. Cullen shook himself free and cut the demon’s tendons at the knee, blood and flesh hanging in the air from his sword strike. 

 

As it fell to its knees, Evelyn charged in, swinging her massive sword, sending the demon’s head rolling across the ground. Cullen raised his hand to the rift and let the mark flare. It blazed with unbridled joy, binding to the rift and pulling it inwards. They had no time! Cullen poured himself into the mark and the green fire flared even brighter. A new demon was clawing its way through the rift, purple, horned, its roar echoing in the courtyard. Cullen’s eyes widened. “Close!” he shouted. 

 

He looked up then as Carroll charged him, raising a massive fist. It staggered back suddenly, bombs exploding at its feet. Cullen turned back to the rift as it began to turn in on itself. The pride demon from within turned its baleful eyes to him. “Not today,” Cullen growled and slammed the rift close in a burst of green flame and a roar of disappointment. He shook the mark, wincing as it flared. The behemoth towered over him, Cassandra still on its head, her sword in its eye. As the behemoth reached up to pulled her down, she twisted the blade, the creature staggering in excruciating pain. Evelyn charged for the legs, her blade chipping away at the crystals. They had to bring it down - it was huge!

 

Cullen glanced at the stairs. “Ice on the ground!” he shouted at Varric and Dorian, rolling to dodge a strike with the behemoth’s massive hand. 

 

“Get out of the way!” Varric shouted. Cullen darted aside. “Evelyn! Legs once the ice is in place!” he barked. Evelyn ran aside as Varric fired, ice bursting on the ground under the behemoth as tiny glass vials shattered on the stone. Dorian’s spell caught the behemoth’s legs, icing them over. The behemoth staggered, sliding on the ice. Cullen charged as Evelyn did, his boots losing traction on the ice until he was just sliding into the creature’s legs. His kick hit its crystal ankle as Evelyn’s powerful pommel strike knocked its other knee off balance. The behemoth staggered, sliding precariously on the ice. Then it started to fall away from the wall, Cassandra leapt from its head and grabbed the stone lintel of the door as the behemoth tumbled down the stairs, a horrifying crack sounding from its neck as it rolled down to the ground, Varric and Dorian darting out of the way. 

 

Cullen stood up carefully on the ice, Carroll finally stilled, the glow fading from his red crystal body. Cullen sighed softly and shook his head. Cassandra dropped down next to him. She slipped on the ice. Cullen reached out to catch her, but his boots slid treacherously under him. They both fell back heavily. 

 

Cullen groaned. “It was impressive until that,” Cassandra said, pulling herself up. Cullen could only grunt in agreement as he carefully stood up. 

 

Evelyn walked onto the ice and turned her sword over. She snarled as she drove the pommel of her sword into the ice, cracks spidering out from the point of impact. She straightened, tucked her hair behind her ear, and started to kick away the loosened pieces of ice to make a path. 

 

Cullen was impressed. Varric and Dorian climbed the stairs. With a florid bow, Varric handed Cassandra her blade, hilt first. “Any woman who jumps on a behemoth like that, you treat like a queen,” Varric said smoothly. 

 

Cassandra smiled faintly, raising an eyebrow as she took her blade. 

 

“You were incredible!” Evelyn gushed. “You ran right up and stabbed it in the eye!”

 

“It was of no moment,” Cassandra smiled. “Just an old dragon hunting technique.”

 

“You’re the Hero of Orlais for a reason! You have to teach me!” Evelyn’s hands were clasped as she gushed. 

 

Dorian nudged Cullen. “Jealous, Inquisitor?” he asked. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cullen said loftily, swiping his sword in the air to clear the demon blood off it. “If we could move on.” 

 

Cullen pushed open the shrine doors, the interior just as gutted by fire as the outside. Flames still raged, the passage to the lower areas lost to rubble. They must have let off explosives. “This place is already destroyed,” Evelyn muttered. 

 

“Corypheus isn’t going to be pleased about that,” Varric said. 

 

“Samson must have ordered his Templars to sack this place so we couldn’t,” Cullen said, leading the way with his sword drawn.

 

“Sorry, Curly,” Varric said. “Someone tipped off Samson you were coming.”

 

“I think you’re right,” Cullen sighed. “Still, we’ve dealt Samson a blow.”

 

“I’d like to have dealt him a few more blows,” Evelyn grumbled. “With my sword to his face.”

 

“Are all Templars so vicious?” Dorian asked curiously. 

 

“You should sit in at a Knight-Captain’s appraisal meeting,” Evelyn replied. 

 

“She’s got a point there,” Cullen agreed. There were demons prowling within, but they were quickly dispatched as they made their way through the burning shrine. At the far end, they found another chamber. Red lyrium lined the walls, growing from the cracks in the stone itself, shrouding ancient Tevinter statues with a dull red light. The air was almost sickeningly warm. Red Templar standards hung on the wall here. It was odd to think of Samson as so loyal to the order still - or whatever shade of the order the Red Templars passed off as. There were no demons in the chamber. Cullen sheathed his sword, trying to ignore the drowning song of red lyrium.

 

“Ugh, it hurts,” Evelyn grumbled, shouldering her sword. “The song is annoying.”

 

“You get used to it,” Cullen said. “Try not to let any of it get onto you.”

 

“Cullen,” Cassandra said. She nodded her head to a man slumped against the wall. Cullen walked towards the man, who stared blearily ahead, his mage robes stained with soot. On his forehead, the brand of the sunburst was dark in the light of the red lyrium. Cullen frowned as he knelt down by the tranquil. “Maddox,” he breathed. “Something’s wrong, we should send for the healers--”

 

“That would be a waste, Knight-Captain Cullen,” said Maddox, his voice even and calm. “I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won’t be long now.”

 

“We only wanted to ask you questions, Maddox,” Cullen said, his voice gentle. 

 

“Yes, that is what I could not allow,” Maddox breathed. He leaned his head back against the wall, his breathing laboured. “I destroyed the camp with fire, as much of it as I could, save the cage. We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured Samson had time to escape.”

 

Cullen grit his teeth. “You threw your lives away? For Samson? Why?” he growled. 

 

Maddox turned his bleary eyes to Cullen. “Samson saved me even before he needed me,” he said weakly. “He gave me purpose again.” Maddox’s eyelids lowered, his last words a hollow sigh, “I wanted to help…”

 

Maddox’s head slumped. 

 

Cullen shut his eyes, swallowing the anger. It was such a waste. Such a waste of life. He shook his head and stood up. “Maddox mentioned a cage,” he said. “We should check the camp. See what you can find.”

 

Cassandra, Dorian and Varric fanned out in their search. Cullen looked down at the body of Maddox. “Dismal place to die,” he sighed. “It can’t have been much of a place to live, either, under Samson’s command.”

 

“I’ll send someone over,” Evelyn said. “He should have a proper burial.”

 

Cullen glanced at her, feeling almost grateful for her sentiment. “You’re right. If even Samson did his best for Maddox, we can do no less.”

 

“What sort of man was Samson?” she asked him. “It’s odd that he’s this evil bastard and yet cares for Tranquil.”

 

“Does it matter?” Cullen asked, harsher than he expected. “He used to be kind,’ only carries so far. And yet Maddox died for him. The man commands loyalty, I’ll give him that.”

 

Evelyn looked at him thoughtfully. “You’re similar,” she said softly. “But opposites. If you are the beacon that will guide what’s left of the Templars, like Ser Barris, then Samson is the same for the Red Templars.”

 

“We are nothing alike,” Cullen said firmly. 

 

“No,” she agreed. “You’re not.” She appeared to let the matter drop and looked around. “Do you see anything useful that could point us to Samson?”

 

“I don’t know,” Cullen sighed. “All I see are smoke and ash.”

 

They parted to look around, but Cullen couldn’t help but think of Evelyn’s words. Similar, were they? He hoped not. “There are lots of weird bottles here,” Varric called out from beside an unmade bed. Cullen walked over and looked over the dwarf’s shoulder. 

 

“Lyrium bottles,” Cullen said, picking one up. He frowned as he examined the bottles, the red light of the lyrium reflecting off the marks on the glass. “Licked clean.”

 

“Drinking it, wearing it, growing it - you can’t say Samson isn’t committed,” Varric said. 

 

Cullen set the bottle down and stood up. “How much of this is Samson taking? His resistance must be - extraordinary!” 

 

“Cullen,” Evelyn called. She stood by a desk with Cassandra, holding up a paper. “Samson left you a message.”

 

Cullen strode over, taking the paper from her. He frowned and tilted his head as he read it. “Drink enough lyrium and it’s song reveals the truth. The Chantry used us, you’re fighting the wrong battle. Corypheus chose me as his general, his right hand, guardian of the Vessel-- and other such nonsense,” Cullen held the paper out at arm’s length in puzzlement. “Does he think I’ll understand? What does he know?” He set the paper aside, catching Evelyn and Cassandra exchanging a meaningful glance. 

 

“I’ll just save these, shall I?” Evelyn suggested gently, gathering the papers. “It’s nonsense but maybe there might be something useful in them.”

 

“If you wish,” Cullen said.

 

“Is there really nothing else?” Dorian asked, arms akimbo as he stood in the middle of the room. “The tranquil spoke of a cage. What cage?”

 

“Look around, there must be something,” Cassandra said. 

 

Varric started tapping on the walls. Would there be a secret chamber? That would be quite exciting, Cullen thought as he wiped the sweat from his brow and started looking around. If there were a room, where would it be? Not outside, that place was totally gutted by fire and explosions. Maddox has said he could not destroy the cage. He brushed the fur from his ear. Then he paused. The strands tickled his ear again. He turned to the wall beside him. He ran his hands over it. He couldn’t feel breeze through his leathers, but there was the slightest caress on his skin, a tiny whisper that fluttered the fur of his shawl. “Varric, try this wall.”

 

Varric tapped the back of his gauntlet on the section of wall, then on the wall beside it. “Possibly,” Varric said. 

 

“Found something?” Evelyn asked from across the room. 

 

“Possibly,” Varric said again, running his fingers along the side of the wall, trying to find a catch. “This bit sounds hollow. If I could just--”

 

Cullen moved Varric out of the way. “Dorian, blow it in,” he said, backing off from the wall. 

 

“Such wanton destructiveness from you southerners,” Dorian grinned, summoning a blazing orb of fire that illuminated the room. 

 

“Then why are you grinning?” Cullen asked. 

 

“Because I like it.” Dorian threw the fireball. The explosion shook the room. Cullen shielding Varric and himself with his shield as rocks and fire flew overhead. When the fire faded, blue light spilled out from a hole in the wall. The room beyond the hole was dark. Statues lined the walls, fierce Tevene dragons, some with swords in their mouths aimed down at a dais in the centre. A man was there, crouched on a dais under a strange glowing sphere. Cullen threaded his way through the blown hole in the wall, approaching the dais.

 

“The light. Light the burner… add a teaspoon of cinnabar…” the man droned, his head lolling to the side weakly, his robes covering his eyes. 

 

Dorian pushed his way past Cullen. “It can’t be…” he croaked.

 

“Dorian?” Cullen said, stepping up beside Dorian, who stared at the dias, his body shaking. 

 

“It’s him!” Dorian growled. “Inquisitor - it’s Alexius.”

 

Cullen stared at the man, his face half hidden. But when he lolled his head back, Cullen could see the shadows of the man’s face. “So this is what became of him after he brought Corypheus his mages,” Cullen growled. 

 

“He came down in fire and splendour,” Alexius droned. “Chapter nine… verse one…”

 

“Alexius!” Dorian called. He looked helplessly at the barrier. “Can you hear me?”

 

“Magister Alexius am I. To Corypheus I am bound to answer every question--” Alexius screamed suddenly as the barrier around him flared and flickered. 

 

“I have never seen a barrier like this,” Dorian breathed. “They caged him here… Alexius! Where is Felix?”

 

“Felix escaped,” Alexius breathed, emotion creeping into his voice for once. Relief. “I sent him away before Corypheus came to Redcliffe. My one right choice.” The barrier flared red and Alexius writhed in pain. 

 

“Why did Corypheus bind you like this?” Cullen asked. 

 

“For Calpernia’s sake,” Alexius wept. “I am lost…”

 

“Corypheus bound you in this on Calpernia’s behalf?” Dorian asked. 

 

“She knows not what has been done here,” Alexius breathed. “I am a ruin, the jeweled husk when the butterfly leaves… This… this was done for her.” The barrier flared again. 

 

“He’s… forthcoming,” Cullen noted to Dorian. 

 

“Bound in that barrier? Who wouldn’t be?” Dorian demanded. 

 

“I need you to calm down,” Cullen said to him. 

 

“Calm!” Dorian flared. “If you had just helped me like I asked he wouldn’t be in this situation!” 

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Step back, Dorian,” he said evenly. 

 

Dorian’s cheeks mottled with rage. He gripped his staff and glanced at Alexius. Then turned his head with an angry hiss and walked away from Cullen. 

 

Cullen turned back to Alexius. Cullen looked at the barrier, at the swords aimed down at it. Maddox called this a cage, and Alexius said he was bound to answer questions... “What is your wife’s name?” Cullen tried.

 

“Azura,” Alexius replied immediately. 

 

“What was Felix sick with?”

 

“The Blight… he had the taint. It consumes him.”

 

The barrier did not flare. So as long as Alexius answered swiftly and honestly, he was not in pain. Cullen knelt down before the barrier. “Does the sight of Dorian pain you?” he asked, his voice kind. 

 

Alexius looked at him through tortured eyes. “Yes,” he croaked. “My apprentice. Full of promise… and fire. He will become a great man. No thanks to me.”

 

Bound and caged, tortured. Cullen knew how that felt. “We’ll try to find a way to free you,” he said. “But I need your help. I need information. Please.” 

 

Alexius stared at him and slowly nodded. 

 

“Why did Calpernia join Corypheus?” Cullen asked.

 

“She seeks a leader - Corypheus - to shape Tevinter’s rebirth. She seeks to raise up the slaves, as she was raised… bring a new order… with a heart of steel. That is her Venatori…” Alexius turned his eyes to Cullen. “And she could do it! If she were not the Vessel.”

 

“A Vessel for what? What are the contents?”

 

“I... do not know--” The barrier flared red and Alexius writhed. “Power!” he cried, catching his breath. “Some sort of power! Power like Urthemiel - arisen in flame - for the glory of Tevinter.”

 

Cullen winced, his heart wrenching as Alexius writhed. “Why did Corypheus do this to you?” he whispered. 

 

“For practice…” 

 

“What?”

 

“Corypheus crafts a vessel for whatever power he seeks. Yes.” Alexius lowered his head. “But he does not need his vessel to have free will. About her, these same chains will fall,” he rasped. “Iron to cage lightning.”

 

“He wants to bind her!” Cullen exclaimed. “But she… isn’t she his disciple?”

 

“He needs more than a disciple…” Alexius whispered. “My binding is a poor pencil sketch. Calpernia… will be the masterpiece.”

 

Cullen frowned as he stood up. All the more, Corypheus had to die. What he was planning to do to Calpernia, to the world… She did not know this plan for her. Corypheus hid away Alexius under Samson’s guard to hide the fact of the cage. Cullen wondered how angry Corypheus would be to know that Samson left this behind. If he knew. Maddox was supposed to destroy it all, wasn’t he?

 

“This chain has broken me, Inquisitor,” Alexius wept, the barrier flaring red, his body twisting in agony. “No wings can raise my mind. Please… breach the circle. Its wards will trigger. I will be dust and light. Free…”

 

Begging for death. A familiar prayer for Cullen. He turned to Dorian, who had been listening. The mage was gripping his staff, his head bowed, his back turned to Cullen. Cullen heard the quiet sob. “Dorian,” he said gently. 

 

“It is your choice,” Dorian snapped.

 

“It is your mentor.” 

 

“How can you ask me that when he tried to kill you?”

 

“Because if I could have helped you like you asked, he might not be in this situation,” Cullen said, his voice heavy. “I wanted to, Dorian. I swear I did. I couldn’t.”

 

Dorian wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and turned to Cullen. He looked at the barrier and Alexius within. The man’s eyes wet as he stared up at Dorian. “Dorian,” Alexius whispered. “I’m sorry.”

 

Dorian shut his eyes and lowered his head. “Do it then, Cullen,” he murmured, his voice quivering with suppressed emotions. “Free him.”

 

Cullen braced himself and slowly reached out his arm to the light. “Tell Felix…” Alexius breathed, a gentle smile crossing his face as the barrier began to waver under Cullen’s touch. “Tell Felix… I love him…”

 

The barrier burst with a blinding flash and darkness fell. There was a breath in the air, hovering on the edge of hearing, and then it was gone. Light flared from Dorian’s hand as he raised a palmful of fire. Where Alexius once sat, there was now nothing but dust. 

 

Alexius was free. 

 

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” Cullen said.

 

“No, don’t be,” Dorian replied. “He was a fool. He should have never taken up with the cult to begin with.” Dorian seemed to straighten up and steel himself. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

Cullen said nothing, walking away from the prison that once held Alexius. The others outside said nothing as Dorian and Cullen joined them. 

 

Cullen led the way out of Samson’s chamber. Wordlessly, they headed out the door. As they walked, the passed a set of tables, covered with shards of red lyrium and strange, delicate tools. It was Dorian who walked over first. “Lyrium-forging implements - of remarkable design,” he said, picking up one of the tools, a delicate twisted bit of wire that glowed. “These are worth a fortune!”

 

“Really?” Varric blinked. 

 

“They must be Maddox’s,” Cullen said. “Tranquil often design their own tools. Danga might be able to make sense of them. If Maddox used these to make Samson’s armour, maybe she can use them to unmake it…”

 

“Fascinating leap of logic there,” Dorian said brightly. “I’m rather surprised you thought of it, actually.”

 

Cullen glared at him, but let it pass as he gathered the tools, wrapping them in a leather case. He handed them to Evelyn. “I’ve had enough of this place,” he said as he looked around at the burning shrine. “We should return to Skyhold.”

 

+++++

 

Cullen was aching all over. Three days hard ride from the Shrine and then an overnight ship ride to Jader, during which he did not sleep because he hated the cabin. Evelyn had sat with him on deck until she fell asleep on his shoulder. He had carried her to her cabin, but retreated outside before he started to suffocate in the cramped space. He was aching now as he sat at the War Table with his advisors. 

 

“The reports sent by our agents at the shrine are intriguing,” Leliana said. “You were correct. Once Calpernia becomes the vessel, she will lose her freedom.” She sighed as she set down her stack of papers. “Forgive me, but I wish you hadn’t been so quick to throw the enspelled magister away.”

 

“I did not throw him away, I freed him,” Cullen said, leaning his head on his knuckles. “The Inquisition can afford to dispense mercy once in a while.”

 

“At a cost,” Leliana said sharply. “Well, done is done. Corypheus’s notes mention a place ‘where regret dwells.’ That is more of a mystery. Until those notes are deciphered, I intend to let rumours of the binding ritual reach Calpernia’s ears.”

 

“Good. That might give her pause to consider her alliance with Corypheus,” Cullen said. 

 

“And with Samson,” Evelyn said, dark circles ringed her eyes as she steepled her fingers on the arms of her chair. “Judging from what we know, there is no love lost between Samson and Calpernia. Regardless, our forces are destroying the red lyrium deposits from Sarhnia to the Shrine. The Red Templars are cut down to the core and Samson is wearing magical armour he cannot maintain. I sent word ahead to the garrisons to let word spread. We’re getting recruits by the hour - quite a few ex-templars among them too. Samson’s flight - our breaching of the Shrine… it seems to have given people hope.”

 

Cullen smiled slightly at that. It was a victory, even if he didn’t get his hands on Samson. “Then all that’s left is for us to--”

 

The door slammed open. “Commander! I finished it!” Dagna exclaimed brightly as she ran in. They turned to stare at her in surprise, but their stares seemed to bounce right off her cheerful excitement. “Oh, were you talking? I have have it anyhow! Inquisitor, look!”

 

She ran over to place a rune on Cullen’s hand. He stared at it. “It’s… what is it?” he asked. 

 

“It’s a rune!” she said brightly. “I made it with red lyrium and what’s left of poor Maddox’s tools.”

 

“That was quick,” Evelyn blinked. “I only passed them to you last night.”

 

“Well, early to work, early to shine!” Dagna chirped. 

 

“I’m not sure that’s how it goes,” Josephine muttered. 

 

“What does it do?” Cullen asked Dagna.

 

“I managed to calibrate it such that the crystals vibrate at resonant frequencies, affecting the median fissures of red lyrium to--” Dagna stopped in the face of Cullen’s blank stare. 

 

“To shatter it?” Evelyn asked excitedly. 

 

“Yes!” Dagna exclaimed. “Finally! Someone speaks my language!” 

 

“Was that what happened?” Cullen muttered. 

 

“It’s like singing, Cullen,” Evelyn explained. “Dame Marverelle could hit a note so high it shattered all the windows in the conservatory. Think of the rune like a-- a--” Evelyn snapped her fingers as she searched for the word.

 

“Tuning fork!” Dagna supplied.

 

“Yes!”

 

“What’s a tuning fork?” Cullen blinked. They stared at him. He waved away the conversation. “Dagna, simplify this for me.”

 

“It’ll destroy Samson’s armour!” she said. “He’ll be powerless.”

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Cullen grinned. “We should render our enemies powerless at a stroke more often. Thank you, Dagna. Any chance we can find him, Evelyn?”

 

“Unfortunately, Maddox covered Samson’s tracks well,” Evelyn shook her head. “But we’ll track him down soon, Inquisitor.”

 

“Do you want a tuning fork, Inquisitor?” asked Dagna, who was always a little slow to catch up to conversations that did not involve the arcane. “I have a few. And no, you don’t eat with them.”

 

+++++

 

Once the meeting was over, Cullen remained in the War Room, catching up on the reports that were sent while they were away at the shrine. There was a knock on the door. He looked up as Mother Giselle entered, bowing at him with respect. Cullen guiltily took his boots off the table, feeling as if his school marm had caught him being rude. “Mother Giselle,” he smiled. 

 

“My Lord Inquisitor,” she greeted. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

 

“Of course,” he said. “Please, take a seat.” He moved to clear some reports he had chucked on the chair nearest to him. “Is something the matter?” he asked as she sat herself down primly. 

 

“I have news regarding one of your… companions,” she said. “The Tevinter.”

 

“Dorian?” Cullen said as he set aside the stacks of reports. He had heard of the arguments Giselle and Dorian seemed to have on almost a daily basis. He sighed inwardly. He hoped to avoid getting involved. “What news is this?” 

 

“I have been in contact with his family. House Pavus, out of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?”

 

“No,” Cullen replied. “I am not. Dorian does not speak much of his family. I suppose there could be bad blood there.”

 

She chuckled slightly at the turn of phrase. “Bad blood. Yes, you are correct. The family sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleaded for my aid. They’ve asked to arrange a meeting, quietly, without telling him. They fear it’s the only way he’ll come. Since you seem to be on good terms with the young man, I’d hoped…”

 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “What sort of meeting?” he asked.

 

“I believe they just want to talk. They wish to know what drove him to come here. They hope to meet somewhere private, out of Skyhold but not in Tevinter. You make them nervous, I think. They don’t understand why he’s here with the Inquisition.”

 

“And who is meeting him?”

 

“They said they would send a retainer to speak with him. If Dorian chooses to end the matter there, he may. If not, the retainer would carry him onward.”

 

“Onward to?”

 

“His family.”

 

Cullen sighed as he leaned back in his chair, wearily resting his head on his hand. “Mother, I am aware of your… distaste for Dorian. Is that why you’re arranging this? So that he’ll go home?”

 

She paused. “I do admit that his presence here is difficult for me. But my feelings do not matter. There are rumours circulating--”

 

“What rumours?” 

 

She seemed taken aback by Cullen’s curt interruption. “I…” she hesitated. “I would not like to repeat them.”

 

“Repeat them?” Cullen looked at her coolly. “So you’ve said them once before.”

 

She looked uncertain. “If I have given offence, I do apologise, my Lord Inquisitor.”

 

He waved away the matter. “I would prefer no one questions those who so willingly serve the Inquisition,” Cullen said. “Dorian has given his blood to our cause.”

 

“One cannot overturn thousands of years of fear and oppression.”

 

“One should start somewhere. This is ridiculous. It could be a trap.”

 

“I thought of that myself, Inquisitor,” Mother Giselle said. “Another reason to put this in your hands, Inquisitor. If it is a trap, the young man would be safe from harm. You would be far better equipped than I to respond to such treachery.”

 

Cullen sighed and held his hand out. “The letter, if you please,” he said. 

 

She placed a parchment in his hand. “I pray you will consider this matter, Inquisitor. If some good can come of it, if we can unite a son with his worried mother and father, we should try.”

 

“I will think on it, Mother,” Cullen said. 

 

She bowed her head. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

 

Once she had gone, Cullen read the letter and re-read it. It did not sound like a Venatori plot. Why go after Dorian? Unless it was a plot to get to the Inquisitor through Dorian. But Dorian never did speak of his family. Cullen looked out the window at the swaying branches of the golden trees, tugged by the cold winds. He thought of Mia, Branson and Rosalie. They were all he had left. This might be a plot, but it also might not be. Who was he to stand in the way of a possible family reunion. 

 

To the void with this. He might be Inquisitor, but he didn’t have to make all the decisions. He stood up with the letter in hand and strode to the library. He found Dorian sprawled on his favourite chair in the nook by the window, his legs hooked over the arm of the chair as he held a book in his hand. “Dorian,” he said seriously. 

 

“Miss me already, Cullen?” Dorian purred. 

 

Cullen held the letter in front of Dorian’s face. Dorian read it and sprang up, taking the letter from Cullen’s grasp. The book tumbled to the floor, forgotten. 

 

“Where did you get this?” Dorian demanded. 

 

“Some correspondence between Mother Giselle and your family,” Cullen replied. 

 

Dorian started to swear in Tevene. He waved the letter at Cullen. “I know my son?” he exclaimed. “What my father knows of me wouldn’t fit in a thimble! This is so… typical!” He spat the word. “I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me over the head and drag me back to Tevinter!” 

 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

 

“Well, no. Although I wouldn’t put it past my father.”

 

“Well? What now?”

 

“What do you mean ‘What now?”

 

Cullen tried not to groan. He was exhausted and the day had been trying enough as it was. “What do you want to do, Dorian?”

 

“What makes you think I want to do anything?” 

 

“I don’t know, it’s your family, they’re all you’ve got!” Cullen bit his tongue at the expression of sudden frustration on Dorian’s face. “Or... so I presume. Forgive me. I don’t know anything about your family. I just thought this matter should be made by you.”

 

“You’re making me make quite a few decisions, aren’t you Inquisitor?”

 

“And why not? This is not my family. It’s yours. And I suspect you are not being treated all that fairly here by some.”

 

“You mean that clucking chicken?”

 

Cullen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Dorian, what you’re doing here, helping us, it’s hard. I don’t want to dictate everything. If you want to go, I’ll follow, since that’s what the letter wants. If not, then that’s--”

 

“What makes you think I’m not going?” 

 

“Are you going?”

 

“Of course I am!”

 

“But you just said you didn’t want to do anything!”

 

“Don’t be silly! I merely asked what made you think I wanted to do anything, not that I didn’t want to do anything. There’s a difference.”

 

Cullen ran his hand over his face. “I’ll take your word for it,” he groaned. 

 

“Let’s go, Cullen. I want to see what this ‘family retainer.’ If it’s a trap, we escape and kill everyone! You’re good at that!” He pat Cullen on the arm with the rolled up letter the way one would encourage an uncertain child. “If it’s not, I send the man back to my father with a message that he can stick his alarm in his “wit’s end.”

 

Cullen snorted despite himself. “Wit’s end.”

 

“I’m glad you like that.” Dorian started to walk off. He looked over his shoulder at Cullen. “Come along!”

 

“Now?” Cullen asked.

 

“Yes now! This is what happens when you let me decide things!” 

 

Cullen tried not to groan. There was a tightness to Dorian’s eyes that told him the man was more concerned about this than he let on. So much for a good night’s rest. “Fine… let’s go…”

 

Dorian looked at him with a hint of surprise. “Good,” he said, and went to ready himself. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slumps into a heap from over-writing* tihs pain hurts so good. Working in both Calpernia's plot and Samson's plot into the same story is hard. Bringing in more Dorian is hard. Cullen and I are feeling the same feelings of "Ugh" right now. Comment... They sustain me.


	37. Kisses in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta-ed for now.

“I cannot believe we are doing this,” Dorian said as he walked beside Cullen, climbing the slopes of the hilly village of Redcliffe. They had come alone, Dorian preferred it that way. Cullen was fine with it, Evelyn was not. She was livid that he was bringing no one else but Dorian. Still, she went along with it after a time. Cullen was sure she had found some way to ‘interpret’ his orders. Agents, he suspected as some of the villagers looked up from their tasks to watch them pass. 

 

“I cannot believe we are doing this either,” Cullen said. “I’m not even sure what to expect.”

 

“Nor I.”

 

Cullen glanced at Dorian. The man had said little to explain the strange situation. Cullen suspected Dorian was hoping he wouldn’t have to. The reached the Gull and Lantern, the inn oddly quiet. Dorian pushed open the door and stepped inside. The inn was empty, not even a barkeep. Someone had paid to reserve the entire inn, to ensure privacy. How wealthy was Dorian’s family? It took a moment for Cullen’s eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight once the door was shut behind him. 

 

“Uh-oh,” Dorian drawled. “Nobody’s here. This does not bode well…” Cullen stood by the door, his hand near his sword. Footsteps echoed from the stairs to the upper rooms of the inn. A man descended, his robes elegant and expensive, silk glinting in the light of the candles. The man looked remarkably like Dorian. Cullen took his hand away from his sword. This couldn’t be a retainer.

 

“Dorian,” called the man. 

 

Dorian froze and turned, his eyes narrowing. “Father,” he replied, his voice controlled. 

 

Cullen stood uncertainly. He was not expecting the father. Suddenly he felt like an intruder. 

 

“So, the story of the family retainer was, what? A smoke screen?” Dorian asked. “A lie to lure me here?”

 

“Then you were told.” Lord Pavus said. He turned to Cullen. “I apologise for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”

 

“Of course!” Dorian spat. “Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen talking to the Dread Inquisitor! What would people think? What is this exactly, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?”

 

Pavus sighed heavily. “This is how it has always been…” 

 

“Perhaps I should--” Cullen pointed to the door. 

 

“No!” Dorian snapped. “Stay! You wanted to involve yourself, you should know the truth!” 

 

Cullen bit back the protest that he hadn’t wanted to involve himself in the first place. Thank you, Mother Giselle… 

 

“Dorian,” Pavus began. “There’s no need to--”

 

Dorian turned to Cullen. “I prefer the company of men!” he declared. “My dear father disapproves.”

 

Cullen blinked, suddenly wishing fervently he hadn’t come along. “I-- what?”

 

“Did I stutter? Men and the company thereof! As in sex! Surely you’ve heard of it?”

 

“I-- more than heard of it!” Cullen sputtered. 

 

“No!” Dorian gasped. “The Herald of Andraste? I am shocked and scandalized!”

 

“I didn’t mean it that way!” Cullen snapped, his cheeks burning. “Maker’s breath!” 

 

“Now I’m trying to imagine how they’ll write that verse of the Chant.”

 

“I should have known that’s what this was about,” Lord Pavus looked at Cullen, his eyes narrowing in a way bizarrely similar to Dorian’s.

 

Cullen held up his hands. “Hold on, that’s not what I meant--”

 

“You don’t get to make those assumptions, Father,” Dorian turned to Lord Pavus. “You know nothing about the Inquisitor. Or me.”

 

Morbid curiosity pricked at Cullen. “You’ve... never been with a woman? Or even wanted to?”

 

“Not to my recollection,” Dorian replied coolly. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful. They’re just… not for me.”

 

Cullen was at a loss. “Oh.”

 

“I’m glad you get it at last. I would hate to resort to drawing pictures.”

 

“This display is uncalled for!” Lord Pavus snapped. “This is not what I wanted!” 

 

“I was never what you wanted, Father!” Dorian’s hand cut through the air. “Or had you forgotten?”

 

Cullen frowned in puzzlement. “Why is this such an issue?” he asked. “Is this a Tevinter thing?”

 

“Only if you’re trying to live up to an impossible standard!” Dorian replied. “Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to produce the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind - the perfect leader. It means every perceived flaw - ever aberration - is deviant and shameful!” Dorian glared at his father. “It must be hidden.”

 

Cullen saw Lord Pavus lower his head in shame. The shame of a father who drove his son away. “So that’s what all of this is about?” Cullen muttered. “Who you sleep with?”

 

“That’s not all it’s about,” Dorian growled. 

 

“Dorian, please, if you’ll only listen to me--” Pavus pleaded. 

 

“Why?” Dorian rounded on the man. “So you can spout more convenient lies? He taught me to hate blood magic! The resort of the weak mind! Those were his words!” Dorian shook his head. “But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?” Cullen heard the crack in Dorian’s voice. “You tried to change me!” 

 

“I only wanted what was best for you!” 

 

“You wanted what was best for you!” Dorian’s finger stabbed the air. “For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!”

 

Dorian turned away, shaking his head, leaning his hands on the bar as he caught his breath. Cullen felt so uncomfortable, flight was looking attractive now. Still, if the man still had a father… He walked up to Dorian. “If you can leave it like this,” he said quietly. “Then we can go. Right now. Otherwise, you should give him a chance.”

 

Dorian shot him a filthy glare and backed away from the bar. He walked up to Pavus. “Tell me why you came,” he growled, crossing his arms. 

 

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition--” Pavus began.

 

“You didn’t drive me to the Inquisition!” Dorian cut in. “I joined because it’s the right thing to do!” Dorian stared at him, his voice soft from tangible regret. “Once, I had a father who would have known that.”

 

Cullen saw Doran’s father’s face crumble. This could have gone better. Dorian turned from the man and started fro the door. 

 

“Once I had a son who trusted me,” Lord Pavus said. “A trust I betrayed.”

 

Dorian stilled and turned to Halward. “I only wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice. To ask him to forgive me.”

 

Dorian stared at Halward in puzzlement, then the emotions welled up inside him as he took his first steps back towards his father. Cullen smiled in relief and quietly went to the door, letting himself out to leave Dorian and his father to their reunion. 

 

+++++

 

It was late by the time Dorian was done speaking with his father. Cullen actually had the time to do some shopping. It was perhaps a relief that few in Redcliffe knew him. By the time the sun was setting over the lake, and Cullen was storing his purchases in his saddle bags, Dorian joined him. Dorian didn’t say a word, and they rode off in silence, the man lost in thought. 

 

They rode as far as they could until they lost daylight. Then they set up camp, pitching a single tent, since they would be taking turns to keep watch. Dorian was handy to have around, lighting a fire with no need for wood or tinder, merely a glyph drawn on the ground. Cullen ate the meal of fried meats and bread Dorian slapped together. The man’s cooking left much to be desired, but Cullen was too exhausted to complain. 

 

Cullen stared into the flames as he chewed. It was odd to have a bonfire with no cracking of wood, only the dull roar of the flames filling the night. There was no smoke, at least. That was an improvement. 

 

Dorian looked up from his plate and took a long drink from his wineskin. “He says we’re alike,” he began. Cullen looked at him. “Too much pride,” Dorian sighed. “Once, I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now I’m not certain. This wine is surprisingly decent, by the way. Want some?”

 

Cullen took the skin and took a sip. The wine was actually decent. Cullen was beginning to suspect he was drinking too much. “What did you mean when you said he tried to change you?” he asked curiously, handing the skin back. 

 

“Oh, you know. I refused to marry the girl, play pretend, keep everything unsavoury quiet and locked away.” Dorian sneered. “Selfish of me, I suppose, to not want to spend my entire life screaming on the inside.” He bit into a piece of bread. “He was going to do a blood ritual to alter my mind - desperate to make me… acceptable. I found out. Left.”

 

“The ritual might have done more than that. It might have altered you into a drooling vegetable.”

 

“Well, there’s that too. It crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal.” Dorian shook his head. “Part of me always hoped he didn’t really want to go through with it. I can’t imagine the person I would be if he had. I wouldn’t like that Dorian.”

 

Cullen took a breath and sighed, turning his eyes to the fire. “Are you alright?” 

 

“No,” Dorian replied, his voice heavy. “Not really.” He took another long drink. 

 

They sat in silence for a moment as Cullen tore a piece of oily bread. “What of your father, Cullen? You’ve never spoken of him.”

 

Cullen smiled ruefully and shook his head. “My father was no one special.”

 

“Was?”

 

“He died when I was at Kirkwall,” Cullen replied. He didn’t even write back to Mia when she sent word. Stupid. He held his hand out for the wine and took another drink after Dorian passed it to him. 

 

“Ah. I’m sorry. He must have been a strapping man.”

 

Cullen chuckled. “No, not really,” he replied. “He had a belly and huge arms. He could carry a pig under each arm if he really wanted. Lifted a downed horse once - saved its life.” Cullen bit the bread. 

 

“That explains where you get your stature. What was he like?”

 

Cullen chuckled. “No, it really doesn’t. I was really skinny as a child. He was…” Cullen dug through the depths of his memories. It had been years since he’d thought of his parents, to his shameful realisation. “He was… loud. He liked singing. He couldn’t read, but he could remember everything you read to him, all the songs and stories and poems. He was strict, too. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of him and birch branch, believe me.” Cullen chuckled as a memory bubbled forth. “There was one time I tried to get out of reciting the Chants - it was how we learnt to read. I tried to sneak away when he was napping. The beating I got…” He laughed, the sound of his chuckles fading as he looked at Dorian. “But he never hit my sisters, or mother. He called us all ‘pup.’ ”

 

“He would have been proud of you, I think.”

 

Cullen felt a pang in that. “I hope so,” he replied softly. He wouldn’t have been proud of the man Cullen was five years ago, or even two. “He wanted us to read and be better than he was.” Cullen sighed softly. Dorian had raised the wineskin to his lips again.

 

“Our fathers sound similar, yet not,” Dorian mused, leaning back on his hands. “Father wanted me to be better than he was. That’s why he sent me off to study with Alexius. Once done, I was to take his seat in the Magisterium. Strange how things turned out.”

 

“I think you’re doing well,” Cullen said honestly, setting aside his used plate. “First Tevinter ever to fall for a qunari. You just have to give your father time to get to know you as you are.”

 

Dorian burst out laughing. “That I am!” he beamed. “Good for international relations, at least.” He looked archly at Cullen, his mustache curling with his smile. “So have you and Ostwick cemented relations then?”

 

“Is that what you call it?” Cullen laughed. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

 

“Very smooth, Inquisitor.” Dorian curled his mustache, seeming to return to his old humour again as the wine flowed. “Were you always so… diplomatic?”

 

Cullen chuckled and rolled his eyes. “That’s not what it’s called. And I wasn’t ‘smooth.’ I… used to run away when I was younger. I wasn’t good with ladies.” 

 

“What about with men? Have you never kissed a man before?” Dorian asked. 

 

“Have you ever kissed a woman?” Cullen shot back. 

 

“Yes, I have!” Dorian replied coolly. “Evelyn, actually.”

 

“Excuse me?” Cullen gasped, flabbergasted. “What?! Why?”

 

“Ah, I suppose she forgot to mention that.”

 

“She did!”

 

“Don’t worry, Cullen! It was just a peck - it barely counted! It was nice, but really, not my thing. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

 

Cullen tried to picture Evelyn and Dorian kissing and couldn’t. But his face was aflame. He would have to talk to her about it. “That is really inappropriate!” Cullen sputtered. 

 

“Well, Bull didn’t mind. He thought it was hilarious.”

 

“Am I the only one who minds?” Cullen picked up a stick to poke the fire angrily, but then realized there were no logs in the fire to poke. 

 

“I didn’t mean to offend. Believe me, the chance of the Commander and I committing any sort of infidelity with each other are utterly nil.”

 

Cullen threw the stick into the fire. 

 

“Would you like to kiss a man?”

 

Cullen stared at Dorian next to him. “What?”

 

“Even Evelyn has kissed a woman. I find it odd that you’ve never tried kissing a man. Why not?”

 

“I-I just-- I never-- I--” His words faded into incomprehensible mutters.

 

“Well, if you’d like to try it…”

 

Cullen’s brain shut down. 

 

Dorian grinned at him and scooted closer. Cullen was rooted to the spot. He had never had so blatant an offer from a man before. There were suggestions from interested men before, but he’d always avoided them. There was no avoiding Dorian, he realized with his heart hammering in his ears. There was a hint of curiosity there. Did it feel different from a woman? He doubted it, but… he wasn’t sure. His face was burning. “What-- What would Bull say--”

 

“This is academic,” Dorian purred, touching Cullen’s chin. 

 

Cullen found himself staring at Dorian’s lips as he drew closer. Dorian’s fingers guided him in. Cullen couldn’t move - torn between a lifetime of curiosity and the desire to run away. 

 

Then Dorian leaned forward, their lips meeting. Cullen stared ahead, Dorian’s mustache brushing his face, his lips feeling surprisingly soft like Evelyn’s. Dorian smelt different from Evelyn, all musk where she was a field of lilies on a summer’s day, she was lavender carried in the breeze. But Dorian’s tongue… Cullen stiffened and shut his eyes, his heart hammering as their tongues touched. It was - too hard. Dorian was too hard, all over. Not in that way! It was the thought of hands, of mutual bodies, of Evelyn. Evelyn was all softness and hardness combined, grunts and mewls and whimpers that drove him over the edge, her body flowing under him until she turned to steel and pinned him down, her fingers playing his pleasure like a lute as he did hers-- He realized he was kissing back. His eyes shot open. What was he doing? He couldn’t! Cullen pulled away with a gasp, his lips wet, a shiver running through him as he leaned back and tipped his empty plate over noisily with the heel of his hand. “Sweet Maker!” Cullen exhaled, not realizing he had been holding his breath all through the kiss. 

 

“Fascinating!” Dorian purred, touching his lips with a satisfied smirk as he moved back to his seat. “I see you like playing with fire, Inquisitor.”

 

Cullen turned away, pushing his empty plate aside as he tried to catch his breath, his face felt like it was on fire. It felt odd and strange and bizarrely… feminine. He had never been attracted to men, but his body would respond to anything, it seemed, as long as he thought of Evelyn. 

 

“What were you thinking about?” Dorian asked curiously. 

 

Cullen bit his lip, feeling the ghost of Dorian’s lips on his. “Evelyn,” he admitted. 

 

“Ah, then I wasn’t alone. I had Bull in mind all the while. Well, I must admit, that satisfied my curiosity,” Dorian added breezily as he took another drink. “Shame we both happen to be in happy conviviality.”

 

“I… I don’t think I’ll ever--” Cullen tried to say. 

 

“I know,” Dorian smiled, handing him the wineskin. “I wasn’t trying to convince you, it was just a kiss. Now, imagine having to live with me for the rest of your life, kissing me in public, pretending we were happily married and in love - producing children. That was the life I said no to. My father never understood. Living a lie, it festers inside you like poison. You have to fight for what’s in your heart.”

 

Cullen was at a loss for words. To live in that pretense would have been terrible. “I think I understand now,” he said quietly. He took a drink and passed the wineskin back. 

 

Dorian grinned at him. “Fear not, Cullen. I won’t tell anyone if it upsets you. We’ll blame it on the wine.”

 

“We’re not drunk,” Cullen pointed out. 

 

“No one has to know that part,” Dorian shrugged. 

 

Cullen smiled and shook his head. “Why in the void did we do that?”

 

“Mutual curiosity, making a point. Now you can never say you’ve not kissed a man. More wine? Otherwise, you should get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

 

“Seriously, Dorian, what would Bull say? He is Ben Hassrath. There are no secrets from him.”

 

“Don’t you worry,” Dorian said. “I’ll settle Bull.”

 

Cullen moved to get into the tent, catch up on much needed sleep, try to forget that he and Dorian had shared a bit too much. “And Cullen,” Dorian called as Cullen held open the tent flap. Cullen looked at him expectantly. “Thank you for bringing me out there. It wasn’t what I expected but… it’s something. Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

 

Cullen thought about it. “I think you’re very brave,” Cullen admitted. 

 

“Brave?”

 

“It’s not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path,” Cullen smiled. 

 

Dorian’s eyes softened. “The kiss had nothing to do with it?” he asked playfully. 

 

“Maker!” Cullen willed away the heat in his cheeks as he entered the tent, Dorian’s laughter ringing behind him. 

 

++++

 

“Commander,” Cullen said tersely as he dismounted at the gates of Skyhold. Evelyn blinked, slowing as she walked to him. She glanced at Dorian and something passed between them. “With me, Commander, I need to discuss something.”

 

He started up the stairs to the keep. Evelyn cast a look at Dorian and fell in step beside Cullen. “Inquisitor?” she said. 

 

They walked onto the battlements into the shambles of a tower, scaffolding all around them against the walls. Already the lions on the walls were being moved place, but the masons were too distracted to notice Cullen and Evelyn walk past, his eyes on the walls. “Cullen--” Evelyn said. He pulled open a door in the wall and took her hand. She gasped as she swung into a closet, lined with shelves with mason supplies and brooms. Darkness fell around them as Cullen shut the door behind them. The closet was barely big enough to fit the two of them if they squeezed close. He gripped the shelf by her head. He could feel her breathing on him. “Commander,” he said in the darkness, his voice resonant in the tiny space. 

 

“Yes?” Evelyn said. He could see her eyes were wide as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. 

 

“Did you kiss Dorian?”

 

She started to laugh, but bit her lip. “Yes.” He could hear the smile in her voice. 

 

“When?”

 

“That night with the fits, I was drinking with the boys.”

 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

 

“It was a dare.” She tilted her head. Her hands touched his breastplate. “It was just a peck. No tongue or anything.”

 

Cullen stared at her. His kiss had tongue. Blessed Andraste, why? Why did he do it? She touched his cheeks. “Your face is burning,” she noted. “Why are you blushing?”

 

“Nothing!”

 

“Cullen…”

 

“I just--”

 

“Did you kiss him too?” she gasped as he glared at her guiltily. She started to laugh, her hand covering her mouth. 

 

“Stop laughing!” 

 

“You had tongue!” 

 

“How would you even--”

 

“That fucking Dorian wouldn’t resist!”  Her laughter echoed in the tiny space. 

 

He moved her hand away from her mouth and kissed her fervently, pressing her against the shelves. She moaned happily into the kiss, her arms gripping his shawl as she pulled him to her. “Cullen, you’re so dirty,” she purred against his lips. 

 

“Stop talking,” he muttered, running her hands over her chest, grunting in annoyance at the chestplate she wore. 

 

“Making out with Dorian…” she breathed and gasped when he bit her neck, his hands tugging at the furs at her waist, her leg wrapping around his waist almost automatically. “That is so… exciting.”

 

“I have no words…” he shook his head. Her lips going to his neck. She pulled herself up on him, the supplies on the shelves rattling behind her. He sighed in pleasure as her tongue licked that spot on his ear. 

 

“Want a reminder of why you like women?” she purred hotly in his ear. 

 

“Evelyn… you read my mind,” he grinned, his hips grinding against hers. 

 

“Your chambers?”

 

“Bigger bed.” He reached for the door handle, her tongue running along his ear lobe. His breeches were tight now. Making out in armour left much to be desired. He frowned, his hand on the door. He gasped when she nipped his neck. “Eve,” he turned his head to the door. “Wait, Eve.”

 

“What?” she asked breathlessly, her legs still around his waist, her arms clinging to him. 

 

Cullen’s hands ran over the door in growing alarm. “Where the fuck is the handle on the inside?”

 

Evelyn stilled. She started to laugh as Cullen groaned, shaking his head and feeling like an idiot. He covered his face, wincing as he smiled. “Sweet Maker, I cannot catch a break…”

 

Evelyn was breathless from laughing. 

 

“Let me get around,” Cullen sighed. “Maybe I can kick it open.”

 

“Can you even bend your knees in here?” she asked. 

 

Cullen sighed in frustration.

 

“Hold me up.” 

 

He held her around her waist as she placed her foot on the door. He felt her brace and kick hard, the door resisting her kick. “Good thing you’re small - and strong,” he murmured in her ear. She grunted and kicked again. He tucked her hair behind her ear, his tongue playing with her lobe as she levelled another kick at the door. Her fingers entwined in his hair, tugging as she leaned her head back, his lips on her neck, sighing as his tongue ran over her skin. “Kick, Commander,” he purred in her ear. “Or we’ll be in here all day, and there’s no space to take off our armour.”

 

He heard her hiss and kick one last time. The door splintering outwards, light filling the closet as they both spilled out of it, stumbling slightly in the sudden light and air. Cullen blinked in the blinding brightness, aware that his shawl was askew and his hair dishevelled. Two soldiers stood frozen, staring at them. Cullen cleared his throat and took Evelyn’s hand, leading her to his quarters. 

 

++++

 

The following morning brought a more sombre mood. The main hall was full of gathered nobles. It was strange that their numbers had swelled since he became Inquisitor. There were so many of them now, from Ferelden to Orlais to Nevarra. They were all patrons of the Inquisition, and all eager to watch justice being dealt. Cullen sat back on the throne as he braced himself for the judgement he would have to deal today. 

 

“For judgement, Inquisitor,” Josephine said as the prisoner was brought to the throne. “I must present Captain Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as Warden Blackwall.” She kept her eyes from Blackwall, who looked at his feet. “His crimes,” she began and sighed. “Well, you are aware of his crimes. It was no small expense to bring him here, but the decision of what to do with him is now yours.”

 

Cullen looked down at Blackwall, his heart heavy. The man had been a friend to him, a confidant. Cullen had felt confident in telling Blackwall anything. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He sighed heavily. “I didn’t think this would be easy,” Cullen said. “But it’s harder than I thought.”

 

Blackwall did not look up. “Another thing to regret. I know you pulled strings to get me here. Haven’t you done enough for me?”

 

“I think I can do one thing more,” Cullen’s eyes hardened. 

 

“I accepted my punishment. I was ready for all this to end,” Blackwall shook his head, his chains rattling. “Why did you stop it? What becomes of me now?”

 

Cullen frowned. “Warden Blackwall,” he said firmly. “You left to atone. Your work is not done. Death is too easy a price to pay for what you did to your men.” 

 

Blackwall’s dark eyes glittered. “Coming from you, Inquisitor,” he said, his voice pained. “That means a lot.”

 

“Then finish your atonement,” Cullen snapped. “You are free to pay for your crimes by making good. Maker’s breath, Blackwall, you are not getting the easy way out - you know you do not deserve it.”

 

Blackwall seemed to stiffen at those words. “You will begin by serving the Inquisition,” Cullen said. “You made us a promise, Warden. Once the threat of Corypheus is dealt with, you may atone as you desire.”

 

Cullen’s jaw set. “Don’t prove me wrong about you again.”

 

Blackwall drew a breath as he looked at Cullen. He bowed then. “I have my orders,” he said. “By your leave, Inquisitor.”

 

Cullen turned and waved him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen, you dirty man.


	38. Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta-ed.

The maps were rolled out on the War Table, speckled gold by the light of the rising sun spilling in through the latticed windows. Cullen leaned over the table, his expression serious. His advisors and Lady Morrigan sat around the table. “With an Eluvian, Corypheus can cross into the Fade in the flesh?” Leliana asked softly. 

 

“Indeed,” Morrigan said. “The Inquisitor can attest that these artifacts still work, if one knows now to use them.”

 

“With the latest reports coming in from the Arbor Wilds…” Evelyn frowned. “It may be that is what Corypheus seeks after all. We know that the bulk of his army is on the move to the south.”

 

“What happens if Corypheus enters the Fade?” Josephine asked.

 

Morrigan smiled slightly. “Why, he will gain his heart’s desire, and take the power of a God,” she murmured. Cullen snorted in disdain. “Or,” Morrigan added. “And this is more likely, the lunatic will unleash forces that will tear the world apart.”

 

“Neither of which we will let happen,” Cullen said firmly. 

 

“T’was always so, was it not? The madman would bury us all,” Morrigan shrugged. 

 

“Pardon me,” Josephine said again. “Does this mean everything’s lost unless we get to the eluvian before him?”

 

“Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our army moves,” Evelyn said as she stood up and leaned her hands on the table, frowning at the map. 

 

“We should gather our allies before we march,” Josephine suggested, also rising to her feet, her quill moving on her clipboard.

 

“Can we wait for them?” Leliana asked, her fingers steepled by her lips. “We should send our spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds.”

 

“Without support from the soldiers? You’d lose half of them!” Evelyn exclaimed. 

 

“For a start,” Cullen’s voice cut through the rising tension. “We don’t let Corypheus send us running around like a chicken without its head.”

 

The three ladies stared at him in puzzlement. He caught their gaze. “You know what happens when a chicken’s got its head cut off, don’t you?” More puzzled stares were leveled his way. “Perhaps we should just move on,” Cullen went on quickly. “Josephine, have our allies send scouts to meet us in the Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we’ll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus’s army until Evelyn’s soldiers arrive.”

 

Morrigan chuckled then, but hid it in a cough when Cullen glared at her. “Such confidence,” she said firmly. “But the Arbor Wilds are not so kind to visitors. Old elven magic lingers in those woods.”

 

“We would be remiss not to take advantage of your knowledge, Lady Morrigan,” Josephine smiled. “Please, lend us your expertise.”

 

“Tis why I came here,” Morrigan smiled. “Although it is good to see its value recognized.”

 

“Any further instructions, Inquisitor?” Evelyn asked. 

 

“You’re about to send in an army to topple a mad would-be god from the dawn of time,” Cullen said firmly as he straightened from the map, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. He smiled at them then. “Do try to get a good night’s sleep.”

 

The meeting took a long time. It was evening by the time Cullen and the others left the room. Cullen headed up to his quarters, too exhausted to think, and yet when he got up there, all he did was pace, lost in fretful thought. They were marching into the jaws of the dragon. He felt confident that it would be a successful campaign, and yet there was always doubt, always fear and worry. And helplessness. He was the leader, but he couldn’t poke his head in where it wasn’t wanted, least of all into his advisor’s areas of expertise. 

 

And he couldn’t sleep. He sighed eventually. No point in wearing a hole through his rug with the pacing. He turned and left his quarters. Eve would be busy, no doubt. No point in going to bother her with his own frustrations. His footsteps found their way to the Rest, hoping a drink would be able to calm him. There was the sound of shields clashing from the stocks behind the Rest. Cullen ambled over curiously. Two figures squared off at the stocks, both holding shields. Bull charged the smaller figure, their shields clashing in an angry clatter until the smaller figure was sent back stumbling. “Come on, Krem!” Bull growled in frustration. “I’ve been working my ass off trying to get you to see that move!” Cullen stood by watching curiously, his hand on his pommel. 

 

“You still got plenty of arse left, chief!” Krem snapped back. Krem turned to him in the moonlight. “Uh, your worship!” 

 

“Cullen!” Bull said brightly. “Glad you came by. I got a letter from my contacts in the Ben Hassrath. Already verified it with Red.”

 

Cullen glanced at Krem. “Do you want to discuss this alone?”

 

Bull grinned. “Not like I was hiding it from my boys. Besides, right now, I need to hit something.”

 

“You know they’ve got training dummies, chief!” Krem protested. 

 

“The training dummy might actually defend itself against the shield bash!” Bull snapped.

 

“Stop locking your knees,” Cullen advised Krem. 

 

“Anyway” Bull said, turning to Cullen. “The Ben Hassrath have been reading my reports. They don’t like Corypheus or his Venatori one bit. And they  _ really _ don’t like red lyrium. They’re ready to work with us - with you, boss. The Qunari and the Inquisition, joining forces.”

 

Cullen blinked. “Maker’s breath, that would be an unprecedented offer,” he exclaimed and paused. “If I believed it were true. Which I don’t.”

 

Bull smirked. “Now, ordinarily, that would be the way to go, but they’ve identified themselves. They’re not running a game on you.” He raised his shield back to Krem, who took up position as well. “They’ve found a massive lyrium shipping operation out on the coast.”

 

“They wanted us to hit it together,” Krem said. “Talked about bringing in one of their dreadnoughts. Always wanted to see one of those big warships in action.”

 

Cullen’s eyes widened. “You’re not alone there,” he said as he scratched the stubble on his chin. 

 

Their shields clashed once more. Cullen saw Krem lock his knees at the last second and went stumbling back. “Did you see  _ that _ ?” Bull growled. “Go get some water.”

 

As Krem walked away, wiping the sweat from his brow, Bull went on, “They’re worried about tipping the smugglers, so no army. My Chargers, you, maybe some back up.”

 

“I think the army is presently occupied with mobilization anyway,” Cullen said. 

 

“Ah, to the Arbor?” 

 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Dare I ask how you even know that?”

 

Bull looked a little mournful. “Come on, boss! I’m Ben Hassrath, remember? Like how I know you and Dorian snogged.” 

 

“We didn’t!” Cullen exclaimed, blushing treacherously. “I wouldn’t call it snogging, alright? Just--” He stopped when he saw Bull grinning at him in the moonlight. Cullen cleared his throat. “What does this alliance get us, anyway?”

 

“Everything,” Bull said. “Naval power, Ben Hassrath reports, Qunari soldiers pointed at the Venatori, black powder.”

 

“Black powder,” Cullen said wistfully. 

 

“I know, right? It could do a lot of good. I know Eve would like a barrel or two.”

 

“A barrel or two? Try thousands,” Cullen shook his head. He caught sight of Bull’s expression. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not entirely happy about this?”

 

“No! I’m good! It’s just… uh…” Bull shuffled uncomfortably. “I’m just used to them being over there. It’s been a while.”

 

“I thought Qunari wanted to extend their reach to the whole world.”

 

“Yea, just didn’t think I’d see it.” Bull sighed. “Look, the Qun answers a lot of questions, it’s a good life. But it’s a big change, and a lot of folks wouldn’t do so well under that kind of life. Take you for example.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah, you’d be made a qunari soldier for one - or re-educated to be Ben Hassrath. Yeah, probably that. Your pretty face would definitely turn a noble or two to the Qun.”

 

“Excuse me?” Cullen sputtered. 

 

“Yeah, you don’t mind taking your pants off for the Qun, do you?”

 

“I would very much mind, thank you,” Cullen snapped. 

 

“And the Commander, or Leliana. Or Cassandra. They wouldn’t be women anymore.”

 

“What?”

 

“Women don’t fight under the Qun. They raise babies, or farm. So either Eve gets handy with a shovel and a baby on the hip or she’s technically not a woman any more.”

 

“Bull… that… makes no sense!” 

 

“Exactly,” Bull said. “You wouldn’t do well under the Qun, if you didn’t get such a simple fact. Well, I guess it’s not like we’re converting. This is just us joining forces against Corypheus. On that front, I think we’re good.”

 

“Then we might as well go,” Cullen said. “Better the aid than not. As long as there’s no converting.”

 

“Right, I’ll send word to Red and Eve.”

 

+++++

 

His name was Gatt, named for glattlock, the Qunari black powder. He was an elf, a concept that Cullen found difficult at first to understand as they spoke. But Gatt was once a Tevinter slave, abused as a child and rescued by Qunari in Seheron. Under such circumstances, Cullen could understand why someone would turn from the Maker to the Qun. Sometimes, the Maker’s silent will was… difficult to endure. Gatt had called Iron Bull Hissrad - ‘keeper of illusions’ or ‘liar’. The Qun were remarkably honest about their titles. 

 

In the sodden rains of the Storm Coast, they now waited with Bull speaking to his Chargers, explaining the plan of attack. Cullen stood with his hand on his pommel, rain dripping down his face, soaking his furs, which he regretted wearing. “So,” Gatt said, sidling closer. “Want to know what Hissrad writes about you in the reports?”

 

Cullen glanced at the elf. “You’d tell me?” he asked. Cullen wasn’t sure whether to trust this elf, but the promise of gattlock and dreadnaoughts would serve the Inquisition greatly. 

 

“It’s surprisingly all good. Hissrad doesn’t normally speak so kindly about foreigners, but you must be something different to warrant all that praise. He even threw out the phrase basalit an.”

 

“Is that good?”

 

“Very good,” Gatt said. “Well, we’ll see. If this runs well, it might become a reality.”

 

“Mm, we’ll see,” Cullen said noncommittally. Gatt made him uncomfortable. He walked over to Bull and his Chargers. 

 

“Get in close and hit them hard, before their enchanter takes over the battlefield,” Bull was saying to the Chargers. 

 

“He’ll be dead before he knows it,” Skinner smiled in a way that sent shivers down Cullen’s spine. 

 

“Just… pay attention, alright? The Vints want this red lyrium shipment bad,” Bull said. 

 

“Yes, I know,” Krem rolled his eyes. “Thanks mother.”

 

“Qunari don’t have mothers, remember?” Bull grinned. 

 

“We’ll be fine, chief.”

 

“Ready?” Cullen asked them. 

 

“As we’ll ever be,” Bull said. “Alright, Chargers, hit them hard and hit them fast. When this is over, drinks are on me - Horns up!” 

 

“Horns up!” The Chargers roared to a man and jogged off to their target camp. “Ready whenever you are boss,” Bull said. 

 

“You gave them the easier target,” Cullen said, watching the Chargers go. 

 

Bull smirked at Cullen. “Lower and farther from the smuggler’s ship? It’s much less likely to be easily defended,” Gatt said, coming up to Cullen and Bull. 

 

“I suppose we’ll do the heavy lifting, just like old times,” Bull said as he drew his massive axe. 

 

“Come on, then,” Cullen said. “No time to waste.”

 

They made their way up a rise, and Cullen remembered exactly why he hated the Storm Coast. Rocks slid under his boots, his leathers chafed his skin and his body ached from the cold. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered, clambering over a slippery rock.

 

“Be careful,” Gatt said. “My agents warned of resistance before the main camp.”

 

“We’ve all done this before, Gatt,” Bull pointed out. 

 

“You’ve been living outside the Qun for years now, Iron Bull. Just wanted to make sure your reflexes hadn’t gotten as soft as the rest of you.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

At the top of the Rise, barricades were set up along the path. Cullen drew his sword and shield. “Come on, then,” Cullen said and charged. The Venatori saw them running up the path and cried out in alarm. Cullen ducked around the barrier, blocking the strike with his shield and slashing his sword across the Venatori’s exposed neck. Blood streaked along his sword as he turned and ran into the fray. Bull was cutting down a Venatori, but an enchanter in the distance was firing off spells. Cullen saw one strike Bull in the side. The Qunari winced and sank to one knee, weakened. 

 

A Venatori ran to Bull, sword raised. Bull snarled and swung his axe, the blade sinking into the Venatori’s side. But the man’s blade still fell, striking down with the Venatori’s last dying breath. A sword caught the falling blade, parrying it away. Cullen kicked the Venatori off Bull’s blade and the man fell dead. Cullen grasped his sword and pulled power from within. Where once he felt the flaring of lyrium in his blood, now the mark flashed on his hand, his body pulsing with a wave of energy that flowed from him. Bull drew a breath and raised his head. “Well, well,” he said, looking at Cullen speculatively. 

 

“Not now, Bull,” Cullen snapped as he tried not to let the surprise show in his eyes, pulling Bull to his feet as the weakness left the Qunari’s body. Gatt was already charging the enchanter. Cullen and Bull charged in, taking the battle to the main camp of Venatori. The enchanter raised a barrier around himself, but Cullen knew how to deal with that. Cullen’s feet slid to a halt by the enchanter, ensconced in his barrier. Another burst of energy flared from Cullen’s body and the barrier flickered away as Cullen’s sword swung. The enchanter spurted blood, his head tumbling to the wet earth. It was working. Cassandra had been right. The mark was powering his abilities! Cullen couldn’t help but grin as he blocked the strike of another Venatori with his shield. He still had his Templar abilities after all! It was glorious!

 

When the last of the Venatori fell, Cullen was still grinning. “I didn’t know your Inquisitor was so vicious,” Gatt said, wiping his blade on the tunic of the fallen enchanter. “My reports say he’s generally inclined to mercy.”

 

Cullen cleared his throat and stopped smiling. 

 

“He’s full of surprises, I’ll give him that,” Bull smirked at him. 

 

“Shouldn’t we send up the signal?” Cullen asked. 

 

“Right,” Gatt said, heading to the campfire with a flare. “Signalling the dreadnought.”

 

The flare sputtered in the rain and rose like a star into the stormy sky. 

 

“Chargers already sent theirs up,” Bull said, pointing to the rise at the other end of the beach. There was a camp there, with the Chargers standing by a campfire surrounded by dead Venatori. 

 

“I knew you gave them the easier job,” Gatt smirked. 

 

Cullen saw a shadow in the waters, emerging from a curtain of rain. The Qunari dreadnought was a massive ship plated with metal of all things. “Maker, look at her,” he breathed. 

 

“Impressive, right?” Bull grinned. “That brings back memories…”

 

Another ship was emerging, a fast two-masted schooner. The dreadnought fired, blazing balls of flame bursting from the ship’s sides. The fire caught the schooner, the impact nearly splitting the ship in two. “Blessed Andraste,” Cullen muttered. “The dreadnought is a thing to be reckoned with…”

 

“Crap…” Bull muttered. 

 

Cullen tore his eyes from the sinking ship. Striding across the beach, a Venatori force was heading to the camp the Chargers held. The Chargers drew their weapons. “Call a retreat!” Cullen snapped. “If they get pinned against the cliffs--”

 

“Don’t!” Gatt snapped. “Your men need to hold that position, Bull!”

 

“They do that, they’re dead,” Bull growled. 

 

“And if they don’t, the Venatori retake it and the dreadnought is dead!” Gattls hand cut through the air. “You’ll be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari! You’ll be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!” 

 

Cullen saw Bull’s vicious glare. 

 

“With all you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already!” Gatt went on. “I stood up for you, Hissrad! I told them you would never become Tal-vashoth!” 

 

“They are my men!” Bull snarled.

 

“I know,” Gatt said almost gently. “But you need to do that’s right… for this alliance and for the Qun!” 

 

Bull turned to Cullen. “This is ridiculous,” Cullen snapped. “Call the retreat, Bull!”

 

Bull looked almost gratefully at him and drew his horn. 

 

“Don’t do it, Hissrad!” Gatt cried. But Bull’s horn blast echoed in the night. The Chargers heard it and fell back, retreating from the approaching Venatori.

 

Bull breathed a sigh of relief, as did Cullen. “They’re falling back,” Bull said. 

 

Gatt was pacing now, shaking his head in disbelief. “All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are,” he breathed, venom in his eyes. “For what? For this? For  _ them _ ?” Cullen glared at the finger pointing at him. 

 

“We would be poor allies if we threw away our loyal soldiers for new ones,” Cullen snapped. 

 

Gatt shook his head in disgust and walked away from them. Cullen watched him go and then sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “That could have gone better,” he said. 

 

“Yeah,” Bull muttered, his voice a little mournful. 

 

Cullen glanced up at him and then at the ship. “Bull, when the dreadnought sinks--”

 

“Sinks?” Bull asked. “Dreadnoughts don’t sink.”

 

Fire spells flared from the beach and caught the ship. The blast caught Cullen off guard. He could see the white light of the explosion through his eyelids. All that power given up… He sighed heavily. Perhaps it was for the best. “Come on,” Bull muttered. “Lets get back to my boys.”

 

+++++

 

They spent the night at the Inquisition’s forward camp in the area, even Gatt. But come the morning, the elf delivered them the news that Cullen was expecting. He came to Cullen and Bull sitting around a fire in a brief break in the rain. “Inquisitor,” Gatt said formally. “It is my duty to inform you that there will be no alliance between our peoples. Nor will you be receiving any more Ben Hassrath reports from your Tal Vashoth ally.” 

 

Cullen glanced guiltily at Bull. “You under orders to kill me, Gatt?” Bull simply asked. 

 

“No,” Gatt replied. “The Ben Hassrath has already lost one good man. They would rather not lose two.”

 

And with a polite bow, Gatt left them, walking away from the camp. 

 

Bull sighed heavily. “So much for that,” he growled. 

 

“Yes,” Cullen said, watching Gatt go. He shook his head. “I wish this turned out better.”

 

“Well, that’s how these things go.” Bull shrugged. “We might as well get back to Skyhold as quickly as possible now.”

 

It was then that Krem came out of his tent wincing as he rotated his shoulder. “You’re up late, Krem,” Bull smiled. Cullen was glad to see that smile, at least. 

 

“Sorry, chief, still sore after fighting all those Vints.”

 

“How are the Chargers holding up?” Cullen asked. 

 

“Good,” Krem replied. “Thanks to you, we had plenty of time to fall back before those Venatori got too close. Chief’s even opening a cask of Chasind Sack Mead for the Chargers tonight!” 

 

“Damn it, Krem, that’s the kind of thing you don’t have to mention to the Inquisitor!” Bull snapped in exasperation.

 

“Yeah, especially since I wasn’t invited,” Cullen murmured, smirking slightly. Bull was Tal-Vashoth. Cullen wasn’t sure how he was taking it, but Hissrad was excellent at hiding his real feelings about the matter. 

 

“Oh, you’re invited, don’t worry about that, boss,” Bull grinned.

 

+++++

 

Cullen was still a little bleary when he got back to Skyhold. Too many cups of Chasind Sack Mead, yet even he could feel the strangeness in the air of the keep when he dismounted. Evelyn was not there to meet him. “I think you’d better go deal with this, boss,” Bull said seriously. “Something’s wrong.”

 

“I know,” Cullen replied, seeing the strange looks people cast at him, looks of concern, a little bit of fear, a great deal of pity. Why? He left his horse with a groom and climbed the steps to the main keep. Varric was the first to see him. 

 

“Curly,” Varric said, his voice oddly heavy with pity.

 

“What’s going on, Varric?” Cullen demanded. 

 

“I think you’d better talk to Nightingale. She’s on the bridge outside Giggle’s office.”

 

Cullen frowned, growing more concerned than ever. What had happened to Evelyn? He strode past the dwarf and through Solas’s rotunda with barely a nod at the elf. He blinked in the light when he emerged from the rotunda. Leliana was indeed standing on the bridge. She turned to beckon him over. “What is happening?” Cullen snapped.

 

“The Commander has received some terrible news,” Leliana replied. “She’s… not stable right now.”

 

“What news?” Cullen’s alarm was rising. Something from within Evelyn’s office splintered and smashed against the door The door swung open, pushed from its hinge. Evelyn’s cat ran out. Cullen bent to pick it up. The little kitten was wearing a shawl much like his. It mewled in fear and climbed his arm, nestling in his armour under the furs of his shawl. “Maker’s breath,” Cullen shook his head. 

 

“News from Samson,” Leliana’s voice was almost sad. “With regards to Ser Laurent.”

 

Cullen swallowed the growing dread as a horrifying suspicion swelled in him. “So why is everyone out here?” 

 

“Because she is not taking it well,” Leliana replied. “She has her sword.”

 

Cullen frowned and strode forward, pushing the door open. He drew his blade half from its sheath just in time to catch the powerful swing from Evelyn’s sword, his body bracing as it bore the impact that nearly knocked him over. She gasped at the sight of him and dropped her weapon, the massive blade clanging to the floor at his feet. Her face was paler than he’d ever seen, her eyes red from weeping. “Eve,” he breathed, his eyes drawn to her desk, where a box lay open. 

 

She winced in pain and started to weep as he swept her into his arms, her cries rising to the heavens in indescribable loss. Cullen stared at the desk, the hot bile of rage rising within him. There, on Evelyn’s desk, tucked in a pleasant little box, with glowing red crystals growing from her beautiful lips and eyes, was the head of Ser Sophia Laurent, sitting on a bed of her shimmering blonde hair.

 

+++++

 

Cullen brought Evelyn to his quarters with terse commands to Leliana to send the head to the cold cellars to find out everything they could from where the head was sent from. Then he tended to Eve, who could do nothing but weep. He held her till the crying left and the fits came. He held her till she shook herself into exhaustion and stilled, limp in his arms as he cradled her on the floor of his quarters, her eyes empty and wounded, gazing into the distance. 

 

She had loved Laurent, he knew. But he had no idea of the extent of it. He wished he had found out another way. She refused to eat, sitting there, staring into the flames of his hearth. Eventually, he undressed her from her armour and donned her in one of his tunics, which fell over her waist. She hugged her knees and hung her head, sitting at the foot of his bed. She had gone past the realm of tears into the deep pits of melancholy. 

 

There was a tapping on his door. Cullen glanced at Eve, sitting in silence, then descended the steps to open his door slightly. Josephine was there, standing holding a tray of hot porridge for two. Leliana stood beside her. Cullen stepped out of his quarters and shut the door behind him. “Is Evelyn…” Josephine began.

 

“She’s stopped crying,” Cullen replied simply. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Josephine sighed as Cullen took the tray from her. 

 

“As am I.” He glanced at Leliana. “Any news?”

 

“Ser Laurent was killed probably at the foot of the Frostbacks,” Leliana reported. “There is no way to tell if she died on the Fereldan side or in Orlais. But the cold of the mountains preserved her head. She has been infected with red lyrium. Dagna suspects that it’s either through heavy dosing or prolonged use. Judging from the reports she has been sending the Commander, I am inclined to the former. Perhaps Samson dosed her heavily to extract information from her. We must be wary, we do not know what she has revealed.”

 

Cullen sighed heavily. “Check the Commander’s correspondence with her. Work with Rufus he would know best what has been sent.”

 

Leliana nodded. “It was a cruel thing,” she said. “But not unheard of in war.”

 

“I know,” Cullen replied tersely. 

 

“We should retaliate--”

 

“How?” Cullen glared at Leliana. “Send Samson heads as well? Dig up Maddox? We will not stoop to such barbarism!” 

 

“Can we afford such civility?” Leliana asked coldly. “What if Corypheus--”

 

“We are better than Corypheus!” Cullen snapped with finality. “And we are better than Samson. We will pay him back with victory in the Arbor Wilds. Make it happen. Updates on the deployment?”

 

“The Orlesian scouts have marched to the Arbor already,” Josephine said. “They will be joined by Leliana’s scouts in two days. As of this morning, Evelyn had the supply lines to the Arbor already in the process of being established. Soldiers are marching ahead of the main force to establish supply camps under the guard of the nobility’s forces.”

 

“Good enough,” Cullen said. “I’ll try to get Evelyn back on her feet. We need her.”

 

“This is exactly what Samson wanted,” Leliana pointed out. 

 

“I know,” Cullen replied. “But Maker help me, I will command the forces myself if need be to get to that man!” He grit his teeth, getting a grip on his anger. The sheer underhanded cruelty of Samson… “I should get back to her.” Josephine and Leliana nodded. “Thank you, both of you.”

 

“Let us know if you require anything,” said Josephine as they left him at the door. Cullen turned and went upstairs, holding the tray carefully. Eve was still on the floor where he had left her. He set the food down on his bedside table and went to change out of his leathers and armour, donning a tunic and breeches instead. He glanced at her as he laced up the neck of his tunic. She was shaking. He wasn’t sure if it was because she was cold or if she was in pain. He shut the doors to his balcony anyway, then crouched down beside her. “Evie,” he murmured, touching her arm lightly. She flinched, but looked up at him with those blue eyes, wide and wounded. 

 

“I ordered her to stay,” she breathed, her voice shaking, her lips pale. 

 

“Stay away?”

 

“No!” Evelyn shook her head and covered her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I ordered her to stay in the Red Templars! For information! For the Inquisition!”

 

Cullen sat down beside her as she curled in his arms. Her kitten padded over to her softly, still wearing her miniature fur shawl. Cullen picked her up and set her on Evelyn’s lap. “Her sacrifice will not be in vain, Eve,” he said softly. “We will defeat Samson, and Corypheus. We will pay him back tenfold for all he’s done.”

 

Her hands gripped his tunic, her eyes hidden by her messy hair. She nodded, nestling her head against his chest. “Tenfold,” she whispered as the kitten curled up on her lap. She looked up at him then, her eyes suddenly burning. “I will not let that happen to you, my love.” Her voice shook with conviction, with steel that reminded him so much of Cassandra. 

 

He took her hand in his, praying that her will and the Maker’s aligned. “I know, pup. I know.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Farewell, Ser Laurent. Cullen, don't mess this up.
> 
> Okay, request. I realize I have sort of peaks and troughs in my writing. Some chapters like Judgement in Skyhold I actually enjoy reading over time, but others, I find physically painful to slog through. If my writing is turning slipshod, I'd appreciate the constructive heads-up. Better I address it now than later down the road where I'll feel totally embarrassed.


	39. In the Arbor Wilds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta-ed

Try though they might, the Inquisition’s presence in the Arbor Wilds sparked a running battle. Camps attacked and counter-attacked, reprisals in the dark of the jungle and the killings along the way. Evelyn had worked non-stopped, and left Skyhold before him, her eyes determined, her blade sharp. “His head mounted on Skyhold’s wall,” she had said. “What’s what I want. Corypheus and Samson both.”

 

He stopped her short, catching her hand as she moved to mount her horse at the gates of Skyhold. “Don’t do anything that would leave me alone,” he said firmly. “Bloodlust and foolhardiness go hand in hand. You will not engage either of them should you come upon them. That’s an order, Commander.”

 

She stared at him, her eyes hard, glittering with rage and bitter tears as she held the saddle of her horse to mount. “Understood, Inquisitor,” she said, her voice tight. “Is there anything else?”

 

“I will be in contact by bird,” he said, placing a folded parchment in her hand. “To start. Be safe.” He blinked in surprise when she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him fervently, nearly knocking him back. Cullen heard Rylen hide his laugh with a cough as he waited upon his horse. 

 

“Eve!” Cullen blushed. “This-- we’re in public--”

 

“My response to your letter,” she said simply. “I love you too.”

 

“You haven’t even read it! But… y-yes, that is the general gist of it.”

 

She smiled through her misty eyes. “I’ll stay alive,” she promised. 

 

“Good.” 

 

She mounted her horse and rode off at the head of the column of soldiers. Rylen hung back a moment. Cullen looked up at him. “Remember our talk,” Cullen said. “Try not to let the Arbor be burnt to the ground by the time I arrive.”

 

“It’ll get rid of the bugs, at least,” Rylen replied. “I’ll watch over her, Inquisitor.”

 

That was a week ago. Now that Cullen had arrived at the Arbor itself, which was still unscorched, the battle had moved on right into the heart of the jungle. Gaspard and Briala were present, as was Celene, which surprised Cullen to no end. Especially since she dressed as grandly as if she were standing in the halls of Halamshiral. Yards and yards and yards of silk in the humid jungle. Cullen wiped the sweat from his brow. Madness. He decided to avoid them. Josephine had fluttered to Celene the moment she arrived. He was pleased to let her deal with the Orlesians. 

 

Leliana joined him when he emerged from his tent, strapping his sword to his waist. “What news?” he asked. 

 

“Fighting,” Leliana replied simply. “The Inquisition forces have been fighting battles from here to the heart of the jungle, where the ruins of an elven temple stand. They are exhausted, but they fight.”

 

“They are loyal indeed,” Cullen said, feeling oddly humbled by the news. 

 

“There’s more. Our scouts report that Corypheus has committed to the field. He has been seen traveling to this ruined temple. The commander has cut you a path through the battlefield to the temple. Captain Rylen is with her.”

 

“Thank the Maker,” Cullen muttered. “Stay here at the forward camp, Leliana. As much as I would like to see your bow in action, I don’t want Celene left without a guard and a minder.”

 

Morrigan fell into step beside him. “I wonder,” she mused. “Is it Andraste your soldiers invoke in the heat of battle, or does a more immediate name come to their lips.”

 

“I do not pretend to be the Maker,” Cullen said. “They respect me, that is all.”

 

She chuckled. “Truly, you are more likely to come to their aid than a distant Chantry fable.”

 

“You don’t believe in the Maker, do you?” 

 

“No, but this is not the time to discuss this.” She tugged at the black glove she wore. “If your scouts report correctly, I believe this ruin in the middle of the jungle to be the Temple of Mythal.”

 

“Of who?”

 

“Mythal, an elven… goddess, if you will. Or a legend diefied, or something of the sort. If Corypheus seeks this temple, then the eluvian he covets must lie within.”

 

“In the past you said you sought out this eluvian. Did you enter this temple?”

 

“Alas, no. I scarcely made it through this infernal forest. Even then, something in these woods turned my steps and made crooked my path. I suspect the ancient enchantments the elves may have placed upon these woods are not as faded as we may think. Be wary--”

 

Something in the distance exploded in the distance, the sound of mage fire echoing through the woods. “Let us hope we reach this temple before the forest is reduced to ash,” Morrigan noted drily. 

 

Cullen sighed. “I think those are the Chargers. If I can hear their mage’s blasts then the fighting is closer than we anticipated.”

 

“It is,” Leliana said. “We have Warden Blackwall leading his contingent with Sera and Dorian holding the eastern approach to our camp. The Chargers are roving the battlefield with Cole, springing ambushes. Madame Vivienne will stay here in command of Lysas and some of his mages.”

 

“Then Varric, Cassandra and Solas will accompany me to the north,” Cullen said. 

 

“As shall I.”

 

“Of course, Lady Morrigan.”

 

Morrigan smiled at Leliana. “Worry not, Leliana, your Inquisitor will return to you in one piece.”

 

“I wasn’t worried,” Leliana smiled faintly. There seemed to be some sort of history with the two ladies that Cullen did not want to get involved with. He gestured to Cassandra, Solas and Varric who were waiting outside their tents. 

 

“We’re looking for a temple, apparently,” Cullen told them. “Who is Mythal?”

 

“The Protector, the All-Mother,” Solas replied. “She leads the pantheon of Elven gods with her counterpart Elgar’nan.”

 

Cullen glanced at him as they made their way through the camp. “So, she’s an important goddess then?”

 

“Quite, for what it’s worth.”

 

“What sort of resistance do you think we may face in the temple?”

 

“Wards, I suspect. There may even be old enchantments still in effect to keep the temple safe, as was the way of the Elves long ago. Why do you ask this of me, Inquisitor?”

 

“I should think it were obvious,” Cullen replied. drawing his sword as they approached the first blockade. 

 

“Because I am an elf?”

 

Cullen blinked at him. “No, because you’re Solas, the guy who sleeps in ancient elven temples to walk the fade.” He paused. “You’re an elf?”

 

“You made a joke!” 

 

“I suppose we’re both shocked.”

 

Everything about the forest was massive. Cullen felt like an ant here. Tree roots as large as bridges arched overhead, laden with mushrooms and vines that hung still in the air. The roots stretched over the forest floor as well, and they had to clamber over them, some as large as a cart, blocking their way. “This is no place for a dwarf!” Varric panted as he hopped off a root to the other side.

 

Cassandra was feeling it too, panting and sweating as she navigated the terrain in her armour. Cullen was regretting keeping the fur. Still, there was no way he’d ditch them by the side of the path now. He climbed over the root and hopped off the other side. His knees were killing him. He felt old. Old. It was unbearable, like the humidity. But Solas and Morrigan did not seem to be affected. They walked about as it if were a stroll in the park. Must be some mage trick, or something. 

 

The sight of the Great Waterfall took his breath away. It roared over the valley, pouring down from the top of a cliff covered in moss and leaves. There was more green here than Cullen had ever seen in his life. A bird of brilliant colours burst from the trees with a song like a disgruntled yelling fish wife. Perhaps the Maker was fair, giving it plumage of pure beauty but not the song. He held out his hand to stop the others. “Red templars,” he said, drawing his sword, as the sound of battle drifted to them, glints of glowing red shining through the mists of the waterfalls. 

 

“And Inquisition soldiers,” Solas added, drawing his staff. 

 

“How can you tell?”

 

“I can see them, can’t you? Perhaps it’s because I have elven eyes.”

 

“Friends don’t rub it in, Solas,” Cullen pointed out as he led the charge into the mists. The battle was short and bloody. The Inquisition soldiers cheered his name as he ran onwards. Morrigan was right. He was still the Herald of Andraste to them. He would always be the Herald of Andraste. He glanced over his shoulder at the soldiers cheering and shook his head, that familiar feeling of… fear coming over him. No, he would not fail. Not like Adamant. 

 

Their feet pounded through the jungle, the battle growing more intense by the third blockade. “This is madness!” Cassandra exclaimed as the arrows flew around them, sinking into the water with whizzing sounds. “Wardens!” 

 

“I thought the Hero of Ferelden had them all!” Varric snapped, taking cover behind the ruins of some archways. 

 

“Some got away, it seems,” Cullen hissed as he poked his head out to catch a glimpse of their deployment. He jerked his head back just in time as an arrow whizzed by. He swore and wiped the blood from his cheek. He caught Varric looking at him in horror. “I know, stupid of me,” he muttered. “Solas! Can you do something?”

 

“Of course, you only need ask,” Solas smiled faintly. Was it Cullen or was the elf getting oddly… sassy, happy to be back here in the mosquito-infested woods hunting ancient temples while Wardens, Red Templars and Venatori tried to kill them? Solas stretched out his hand, pulling the veil so hard Cullen felt it in his gut. The Warden archers were knocked down into the water with a flash of green smoke. Morrigan let fire a static cage of lightning. Cullen could hear the screams of the dying Wardens echoing in the darkness as they electrocuted in the water. 

 

“Effective,” Cassandra smiled. “Horrifying, but effective.” 

 

“We need to move on!” Cullen snapped, rising as they ran on past the charred corpses. “He has Wardens and Red Templars and Venatori - where are those--”

 

Another arrow clattered on the wall beside him. Wardens with dead eyes were coming out of the forest. Cullen raised his shield, a bolt grazing Varric’s side, the dwarf’s body flashing green with Solas’s barrier springing up around them. “Seriously?” Varric snapped and fired back, ignoring the arrows that bounced off his flashing green barrier. 

 

“Varric! Get in cover!” Cassandra snapped from behind her shield. 

 

“I’m fine - got a barrier!” Varric grinned, firing as more Wardens emerged from the trees. “They don’t, though.”

 

“Don’t push your luck!” Solas growled, taking cover behind rubble, sweat beading his head as he held Varric’s barrier in place. 

 

Cullen stood and charged, arrows bouncing off his shield, water splashing at his knees. The Warden dropped his bow, reaching for his sword. Cullen cut him down. The others turned their arrows to him, Cassandra’s shield  blocked his flank, her sword flashing as she cut down another Warden. 

 

Then a bear burst from the bushes, roaring as it mauled a dead-eyed Warden. Cullen stared at it. It grinned at him, in so far as a bear baring its bloody teeth could grin. “Andraste’s blood!” Cullen swore, recognizing the bear. 

 

The last arched exploded in a violent blast of fire and ran screaming into the trees, all aflame. 

 

“Cassandra!” 

 

Cullen turned around and shook his head at the man wearing wolf fur. “Hawke!” he flashed the man a grin. 

 

“Oh, you’re here too,” Hawke blinked at him. “Hello, Cullen.”

 

“Really?” Cullen glared back. He nudged Cassandra, who was standing next to him, blushing. 

 

“What are you doing here?” she finally demanded, her scowl returning. 

 

“You’ve yet to reply my latest letter, Lady Cassandra,” Hawke bowed floridly. 

 

“I’ve-- been busy,” she avoided Cullen’s eyes. 

 

“I’ll meet you at Crestwood? Pretty flowers, lovely lake, dragons to kill.”

 

“I’ll think about it.” She shot Cullen a glare. “Not a word,” she warned. 

 

Solona walked up to them, wiping the blood from her mouth and chin. “We’ll hold this position,” Solona said. “Commander’s orders. I take personal offence at Wardens serving anyone other than me, right now.”

 

“Good.” Cullen turned and paused to grab Cassandra and drag her along with him. “Dragon hunting dates?” he asked mildly. 

 

“That is none of your concern!” Cassandra blushed furiously. 

 

“We must make haste,” Morrigan said when they returned. “If Corypheus gets to the eluvian first, all this is for nought.”

 

“Understood,” Cullen said. “Double time, gentlemen. And ladies.”

 

They continued through the woods, weaving along the path of the river till it opened up to another basin. Cullen was thirsty, but he daren’t stop. The basin was full of madness - a huge melee raged there. Inquisition soldiers led by Blackwall in the fore battled with Red Templars. Venatori mages fired off spells in the distance as Sera shot back, her arrows arcing through the air along with Dorian’s spells. And fighting everybody else, were strange elves in pristine armour. “Concentrate on the outliers!” Cullen commanded and the party charged into battle. 

 

Cullen charged a Venatori mage. The mage, turning to see him and raised his staff. Cullen felt Solas’s barrier spring up around him, his shield raised to turn the spell, sword ready for the strike. “For Calper--” An arrow sprouted from the mage’s mouth. Cullen froze, feeling robbed. “Sera!” he snapped. 

 

“Arrows in the face!” Sera shouted gleefully from atop a ruined stairway. “Watch out for the elfy-elves, Cully-wully!” 

 

He ducked a dagger from behind without thought, moving on instinct. His sword sank into the elf’s body, the armour flashing with some sort of magical shield. Cullen pulled out the blade and drove the edge of his shield into the elf’s neck. Spitting blood, the elf tottered backwards and fell dead into the water. 

 

The burst of flame and lightning flared overhead, arrows whizzed past and the sound of ringing steel on steel thundered in the air. The Inquisition forces were pressed from all sides. He saw Blackwall take a heavy blow but keep fighting despite the bright red blood spurting from his side. Cullen raised his mark. There was a Templar method. One he hadn’t used in a long while. A sign. He called the image to mind and the mark flared with dancing joyful flame. “Do it.”

 

The mark burst with a green and gold light that hovered over their heads like a rising sun, all eyes turning to the light and the battlefield hushed. “Fasta vaas!” Dorian exclaimed. Then the glow flowed into the shape of a woman, hair flowing, robes tossed in the heat of war and strife and burning burning faith. She raised an ethereal sword and roared the charge. Cullen was nearly knocked back by the Inquisition’s answering roar as they rallied. Raising their sword with the image of Andraste, they charged the enemies around them, fighting with a new ferocity and vigour, the glowing image fading above them into a starry burst. 

 

Cullen stared ahead, feeling fatigue wash over him as the mark claimed its fuel from his body. He sagged and looked at the mark, the green fire twinkling as if in laughter, glowing gold at the edges. “Alright, stop showing off,” Cullen snapped. The mark flickered out, almost affronted. 

 

Solas looked at him speculatively. “Using the mark to fuel your Templar abilities,” he noted. “Are you sure that is wise?”

 

Cullen looked down at the battle raging, the red templars falling and the Inquisition forces charging the Venatori, destroying the strange elves as they passed. “I don’t know if it’s wise,” Cullen admitted. “But it is necessary. The mark takes things into its own hands, though. It seems to have a mind of its own.”

 

“It does not,” Solas replied firmly. “More likely, you have ideas in your head that you do not acknowledge. The mark will manifest your will and emotions fully, whether you want it to or not.”

 

“I noticed,” Cullen held his sword. “But for now, we have bastards to kill. We’ll discuss this later.”

 

It did not take long for the Inquisition forces to swarm the Venatori, destroying them. Cullen walked to Blackwall, treading his way over the dead. “Can you hold this position?” he asked. 

 

Blackwall straightened. “Yes, Inquisitor,” he said, holding his side. 

 

Cullen stared at the wound. “If--”

 

“I can, Inquisitor,” Blackwall snapped firmly. 

 

Cullen met his eyes, the man he once trusted. The man Cullen had not forgiven, had not spoken to, but still needed to trust again. “Fine,” he said. “Then hold for as long as you can. If you can’t, fall back to the second blockade. Warden Amell and Hawke are there.”

 

“Understood,” Blackwall said, straightening up, his face pale. “After the sign you showed us, Herald, not a man among us would retreat.”

 

Cullen felt a pang at the sight of Blackwall. “Don’t push yourself,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder and rejoined Cassandra, Morrigan and the other. 

 

“What were those elves,” Cullen demanded of Morrigan, stomping through the water. 

 

“Ancient guardians of the temple, I suspect,” Morrigan replied. 

 

“Are they Dalish?”

 

“No,” Solas replied. “They must be temple guardians, once in slumber, now awakened by the chaos.”

 

Cullen stared at him. “Are you suggesting they’re… immortal?”

 

“They can be killed, so they cannot be immortal. But they are ancient.”

 

“Maker’s breath, as if this couldn’t get any stranger!” Cullen shook his head. “Come on, we’re almost at the last blockade.”

 

The final blockade brought them to the looming gates of the temple. After the grand melee, Cullen was shocked to see the temple gates silent. Evelyn, Rylen and the Inquisition forces stood over dead and dying Venatori and Red Templars. 

 

She turned to him when he approached. “Inquisitor,” she said simply. “I’m pleased to report that I did not burn down the jungle.”

 

Cullen shot Rylen a dark glance. Rylen just shrugged. 

 

“That bastard Samson just ran in with Calpernia and Corypheus,” Evelyn went on, holding her bloody sword. “Wardens number among their party. Permission to accompany you, Inquisitor.”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. She met his gaze. “With all due respect, Inquisitor, I implore you. Don’t order me to stay.”

 

“I don’t want you to--”

 

“What?” To do my duty?” she asked softly. “To protect you?” 

 

“To die.”

 

“All men die.” Her voice was cold. “Even me. But you cannot. I will do my duty.”

 

Cullen gave up. He would rather have her with him in sight than out here with her rage. “Very well, Commander,” he said simply. “With me.” Gratitude flashed in her eyes, but she said nothing. Cullen looked at Rylen. “Can you hold the blockade?” he asked. 

 

“All the bastards are in there with you,” Rylen replied. 

 

“Then await our signal.”

 

Cullen turned to the stairs, hallas standing proud by the gates that lay open before them. Once away from the men, Cullen whispered to Evelyn, “I meant what I said.”

 

“As did I.” Her head was proud and high, her eyes glinted like icy shards as they stepped into a long dark corridor that took them through the massive outer walls of the temple.

 

“Don’t do anything foolhardy.”

 

“I won’t, Cullen,” she replied simply. “Unless you don’t trust me to restrain myself. Just as you needed Rylen to watch me.”

 

He stared ahead at the growing light from the end of the tunnel, not knowing how to respond. “You’ve said everything you need to say,” she said, not looking at him.

 

“We will discuss this later,” Cullen replied shortly as they reached the end of the tunnel. There were voices from beyond as the tunnel opened up to a verandah that ran along the inside of the wall. Cullen slowed and gestured for the others to crouch. With his sword drawn, he crept up to the parapet. Red Templars and Venatori lay dead around them, riddled with arrows. Cullen peered over the parapet, Morrigan beside him. Below, was a temple that rose from the waters of the river. Corypheus, Samson and Calpernia stood with half a dozen dead-eyed Wardens behind them at the end of a bridge that stretched across the chasm to the temple. The strange elves stood on the bridge, weapons drawn, glaring at the hulking monster. “Na melana sur, benallen!” an elf’s voice carried up to the verandah. 

 

“They still think to fight us, Master,” Cullen heard the unmistakable voice of Samson, smirking. He saw Evelyn’s grip tighten on her sword. 

 

“These are but remnants,” Corypheus replied, striding towards the bridge. “They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows.”

 

Cullen glanced questioningly at Morrigan, who shook her head and shrugged. 

 

As Corypheus approached the bridge, the statues at the end of the bridge began to spark and glow along strangely organic veins. The elves began to back away as Corypheus stepped onto the bridge, the lights from the statues growing violent, sparking, ripping through the air. Even here, Cullen could hear the startled gasps of the elves. What was Corypheus doing?

 

Corypheus grabbed the neck of the nearest elf as the other guardians fled across the bridge, the lights from the statues flaring, blinding to the eyes. “Bo honored!” Corypheus gloated. “Witness death at the hands of a new god!” 

 

As Corypheus raised the struggling elf, the smell of burning flesh rose from his body, the lights searing into him. Then it exploded to the sound of cracking stone. Cullen shielded his eyes from the blinding light. When the ringing in his ears ceased, he blinked. 

 

All was silent, save the sound of running footsteps. Cullen stood up, seeing Samson, Calpernia and the Red Templars fleeing into the temple gates at the far end of the bridge. The man turned to look at him and Cullen caught the wink thrown his way. “Bastard,” Cullen growled. He saw that the drop was not too far down. He hopped over the parapet and landed below. His knees twinged, making him instantly regretting that foolish move, but the others dropped down beside him. The statues were no more, and the smouldering smear on the ground was all that remained of Corypheus. 

 

“That takes care of that,” Varric said happily. 

 

“That… can’t be it,” Cullen frowned, covering his nose from the sickening smell of charred flesh. 

 

The sound of retching made them turn. One of the Wardens, was twitching on the ground, rising, twisting to the sound of his own bones breaking. Cullen stared in puzzlement. “What…” Cassandra breathed. 

 

The warden twisted back and screamed, black ooze spurting from his mouth as he cried in agony. Then an arm burst from the Warden’s chest, dripping black blood. Corypheus’s arm. “No--” Cullen croaked as he backed away. 

 

“It cannot be!” Morrigan cried. 

 

A familiar fear caught his gut. “Get across the bridge!” Cullen barked. “Now!” Corypheus would kill them if they faced him now. 

 

They ran, pounding across the pristine tiles towards the gates that Samson ran into. Cullen looked over his shoulder, his furs whipping about his face. Corypheus was rising from the body of a Warden, his eyes aglow, eyes that pierced into Cullen in the dark of his nightmares ever since the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Corypheus just rose from the dead. That was impossible! How! The ancient magister strode towards the bridge and raised his hand, flashing red sent thunder across the air. The dragon roared above, a shadow falling over them with the promise of death. “Run!” Cullen shouted. 

 

He slid to a halt inside the gates, the dragon swooping down to the bridge, red lyrium fire blasting out at the doors like a red fist. He slid aside behind the cover of the door, the air searing as he pressed his shoulder against the ancient stone and pushed. The fire cut off as the doors slammed shut at last. The impact of the dragon against the doors threw them back to the ground, but the doors only glowed, wavering like a drop of water in a golden pond. Then they stilled, sealed shut.

 

Evelyn’s swearing peppered the air. “This,” Varric sighed heavily. “This is bad - very bad. That’s why the Wardens imprisoned him but not killed him - that’s how he survived after Hawke and I fought him!”

 

“How?” Cullen demanded, not realizing that he had shouted louder than intended. The others fell silent in the fire of his voice. Cullen held up his arms, then stopped when he saw their eyes fix on his waving sword. He lowered the weapon and calmed himself, stemming the rising panic. “How, Lady Morrigan? How could he possibly… do that?”

 

“You ask me as if I would have greater insight into the madman’s magic than you would,” Morrigan snapped. “All I know is that only archdemons can resurrect from the body of a darkspawn.”

 

“Are you certain?” Cullen asked. 

 

“Perhaps you forget: I was in Ferelden during the Fifth Blight. I saw a true Archdemon rage.  How Corypheus gained the power to send his soul into Blighted bodies… that is the real mystery.”

 

Cullen ran his hand over his face, green light spilling into his eyes as his mark flared without his permission. He shook his hand, putting the mark out. “We should hurry before Corypheus gains entry,” Solas said. 

 

“We will deal with his immortality later,” Cassandra said, her voice like steel, but her eyes uncertain. 

 

“Samson’s in there,” Evelyn said. Her words cut through the panic. Corypheus’s immortality was shocking, but Samson… Samson was a different matter. 

 

“Right,” Cullen said, pulling himself together. 

 

They walked through the hallways, the roof open to the sky, golden sunlight casting deep blue shadows. there were vines here and the temple grounds were overgrown. Otherwise, the place seemed relatively untouched. 

 

“Wait,” Cassandra said. They slowed to a stop under a vine-covered archway. “Morrigan. You said Corypheus wanted an eluvian, but he mentioned a ‘Well of Sorrows.’ Which is right?”

 

Morrigan looked uncertain, scratching her head. “I… am uncertain of what he referred to,” she admitted. 

 

“Is eluvian translated into ‘Well of Sorrows?” Evelyn asked. 

 

“No, Commander,” Morrigan shook her head. “It appears the eluvian is not the prize which Corypheus seeks.”

 

Cullen glared at her. 

 

“Yes!” She sighed in exasperation. “I was wrong. Does that please you? Whatever the Well of Sorrows might be, Corypheus seeks it and thus we must keep it from his grasp!” 

 

Cullen looked out at the courtyard before them, strange raised platforms rising out of the overgrown grass. Statues of winged, yet armless women rose above the temple courtyard. “Is that Mythal?” Cullen asked as they stepped out into the sunlight. 

 

“One would assume,” Morrigan replied, falling in step beside him. 

 

“What was she? An elven goddess?”

 

“Presumably. What is a god if not a being of immense power? The dread Old Gods were nothing more than dragons, after all. They rise as Archdemons, then they die. Perhaps Mythal was but a powerful elf, ruler among her kind. History often plays storyteller with such facts.”

 

“You admit lack of knowledge yet you dismiss her so readily?” Solas asked.

 

“I do not dismiss her,” Morrigan replied. “I merely question her supposed divinity. One need not be a god to have value. Truthfully, I am uncertain Mythal was even a single entity. Accounts are… varied.”

 

“How can they be varied if they’re all elven?” Cullen asked, perplexed. 

 

“Those accounts are not as singular as your Chantr fables, Inquisitor. In most stories, Mythal rights wrongs while exercising motherly kindness. Others paint her as dark, vengeful. Pray to Mythal and she will smite your enemies, leaving them in agony.”

 

“Any man who’s ever been with a woman would not find that sort of thing particularly unfamiliar,” Varric pointed out. 

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cullen said, not looking at Evelyn. 

 

“How do you stay alive with that mouth of yours, Varric?” Evelyn snapped. 

 

“It’s the lack of beard. People are surprised when they see me. They do a double-take and I run.”

 

“Dalish tales,” Solas said dismissively, stepping around an overgrown bush. “The oldest accounts say Mythal was both of these, and neither. She was the mother, protective and fierce. But this is not the place to stir up old stories.”

 

“Whatever the truth, all accounts of Mythal end the same: banished to the Beyond with her brethren.” Morrigan stopped as they stepped around a raised dais. 

 

Cullen’s eyes took in the monumental stone carved with elven letters in the centre of the dias. “Exiled?” he asked. 

 

“Tricked by the Dread Wolf,” Morrigan replied. “As all the elven gods were said to be - trapped in a land beyond the Fade. Many Dalish believe this is why the elves fell from grace, and their gods did not save them. Or perhaps they were simply rulers slain by Tevinter. Who can say?” She shrugged. 

 

He tore his eyes away from the monument and their beguiling letters. “If these elves here kept records, they could change history,” he breathed thoughtfully. 

 

“Tis thrilling, no?” Morrigan smiled at him. “To discover that an era thought lost forever has possibly thrived in the shadows? We may, however, find these elves reluctant to part with their long-kept secrets.”

 

“Red Templars,” Evelyn said tersely. She jerked her chin to a fallen form draped across the steps before them. 

 

“I see they have already encountered the temple’s guardians,” Morrigan said mildly. 

 

“They lay an impressive ambush,” Evelyn noted, shouldering her sword as she looked around. “Where are they?”

 

“Preparing another display of hospitality, no doubt.”

 

“On your guard,” Cullen said to them. Their way at the top of the stairs was barred. Cullen pushed at the towering door. “Nope, this is not moving,” he panted. 

 

“Corypheus’s lackeys found their way in,” Morrigan noted. “There must be a way.”

 

“Why is there a statue of a wolf here?” Varric asked. Cullen turned to see the dwarf off in the distance, pointing to an archway. To moved to join him. There was indeed a statue of a reclining wolf, staring at them with cold stone eyes. “It seems weird, if the Dread Wolf was the one who banished the gods.”

 

“Perhaps it is like Maferath’s statue in the Chantry,” Cullen suggested as he stared up at the statue. “Like, a warning?”

 

“It might have served the same purpose,” Morrigan said. “A reminder of vigilance for the faithful.”

 

As Cullen turned away, he heard Solas scoff. “For all your knowledge, Lady Morrigan, you cannot resist giving legend the weight of history. The wise do not mistake one for the other.”

 

“Pray tell what meaning does our ‘elven expert’ sense lurking behind this?” Morrigan grated. 

 

“Nothing that can be discerned by staring at it,” Solas shrugged. 

 

“You two look like you’re about to kiss when you fight,” Varric pointed out. 

 

“Perhaps we should move on,” Morrigan snapped. 

 

Cullen stopped, looking over the verandah at the top the stairs. The dais stood benignly in the centre of the courtyard. “What is that?” he asked. 

 

“Altar?” Evelyn frowned, joining him. 

 

“It could be the key to entering the temple,” Morrigan mused. 

 

“Like genuflecting before approaching Andraste?” Evelyn asked. 

 

“If you like. Come, Inquisitor, time is short.” Morrigan led the way down the stairs. They descended once more to the dias in the centre of the courtyard. Cullen climbed up to the stone monument. “Maker’s breath!” he gasped when the tile under his foot glowed blue.

 

Morrigan smirked, walking calmly past him over the glowing tile. “It appears the temple’s magicks are still strong,” she purred, looking up at the altar. 

 

“Perfect,” Cullen grumbled. More magic… He looked up at the carved monument. “Does this say anything about the Well of Sorrows?”

 

“Atish’all vir abellasan,” Solas read. “It means ‘enter the path of the Well of Sorrows.”

 

“We’re on the right track,” Cullen sighed in relief. 

 

Morrigan still stared at the monument, a frown on her face. “There is something of knowledge… respectful and pure…” she murmured. “Tis all I can translate. That it mentions the Well is a good omen.”

 

“So this well is important, I get it,” Cullen said. 

 

“Supplicants to Mythal would have paid obeisance here,” Morrigan said thoughtfully. “Following their path may aid entry.”

 

“Path?” Cullen looked at the tiles that ran around the monument. He stepped on the next tile, which lit up as the first did. He walked to the next and it did the same. Walk the path? He moved to the next, and the next, lighting each one up in turn, taking care not to step on tiles he had already trod on. If you were approaching a motherly god of love and or vengeance, you did not want to backtrack or second guess yourself. When he came around the monument to Morrigan, he stepped on the final tile beside her. The tiles flashed yellow. Cullen found he was tensing as he waited. The doors at the top of the stairs swung open on silent hinges. “Well walked, Inquisitor,” she said. 

 

Varric grinned. “You know, the thing about Curly is that you kind of forget he’s actually pretty smart,” he said in admiration. 

 

“Why are you both nodding?” Cullen snapped at Evelyn and Cassandra as he descended from the altar, blushing slightly at Varric’s stupid remark.

 

“Was I?” Evelyn gasped guiltily. 

 

“Because it’s true,” Cassandra replied bluntly. 

 

“I was nodding because you’re pretty.” Evelyn had the decency to squirm under Cullen’s disbelieving glare. “Well you are,” she muttered. 

 

“Let’s just move on,” Cullen sighed in exasperation as they climbed the stairs once more. With their weapons drawn, they entered a tunnel that took them through the walls. When Cullen pushed open the door at the other side of the tunnel, an explosion rocked the ground. 

 

From beyond the courtyard that stretched before them, Calpernia and Samson turned to see them at the door. Calpernia stretched out her hand to them imperiously. “Inquisitor!” she shouted to him. “You should have stayed outside!”

 

“You should have stayed in Tevinter!” Cullen shouted back, but Calpernia had already turned from him. Cullen saw Samson sneer, then they both vanished into a smoking hole in the ground. 

 

Then the Venatori emerged from around them, flanked by Red Templars. Varric sighed. “Well, shit,” he muttered, Bianca’s arms springing open. 

 

The battle that erupted was bloody and brutal. Samson - that bastard. And Calpernia was being used! He was so close to them. The faster the minions were defeated, the swifter he could take the fight to them. With a ferocity that felled Templar and Venatori, they fought till the last of the enemies were slain. “Come on!” Cullen shouted, kicking an enchanter off his blade. They charged up the stairs at the other end of the courtyard. There as a hole in the ground leading to what looked like basement tunnels. Calpernia and Samson were nowhere to be seen by then. Cullen braced to jump until a hand pulled him back by the shoulder. “What?” he snapped. 

 

“Hold a moment!” Morrigan said urgently. 

 

“They’re getting away!” Evelyn cried. 

 

“Let the fools walk the path of their own folly!” Morrigan snapped. She pointed at a towering door behind them. “While they rush ahead, this leads to our true destination!” Her eyes were fervent as she looked at Cullen. “We should walk the petitioner’s path as before!” 

 

“There are soldiers out there dying for us!” Evelyn growled. “The longer we tarry, the more men we lose!”

 

“I agree,” Cassandra said. “Let’s jump down and be done with this place!” 

 

“It would be unwise to rush in,” Solas said firmly. “For once, I agree with Lady Morrigan.”

 

“You see the urgency,” Morrigan said to Cullen. “We cannot find the Well of Sorrows unprepared!” 

 

“We do not want the Well,” Cullen said to Morrigan. “We only want to keep Corypheus away from it.”

 

Morrigan stared at him, her words suddenly stilling, her eyes calculating. Then she gestured for him to follow her apart from the others. 

 

Evelyn followed uninvited. “Commander?” Morrigan said coldly. 

 

“Is my counsel not required? Do we advisors keep secrets from each other now?” Evelyn shot back. 

 

Morrigan shrugged. “Follow then, if it pleases you.”

 

“It does,” Evelyn replied coldly.

 

“There is a danger, Inquisitor, to the natural order,” Morrigan said as they stood apart from Solas, Cassandra and Varric. “Legends walked Thedas once, things of might and wonder. Their passing left us all the leser.” She turned to him. “Corypheus would squander the power of the Well. I would have it restored.”

 

“Wow,” Evelyn looked at Morrigan with thoughtful eyes. “I wasn’t expecting your answer to be so… romantic.”

 

Morrigan chuckled slightly. “Trust me, your surprise is matched only by my own,” she said. 

 

“You barely know what the Well is, yet you want to restore it?” Cullen asked, who had no time for this romantic malarkey.  

 

“Yes!” Morrigan replied, fervour in her voice. “Is Thedas so full of wonders that we should leave them to die one by one?” She sighed then, and for the first time,Cullen saw a look of sorrow cross her features. “Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand - elves, dragons, magic… the list is endless. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing more than the mundane. This I know to be true.”

 

Cullen stared at her, then at Evelyn. “At what cost, Lady Morrigan?” Evelyn asked plainly. 

 

“For what reward, you mean,” Morrigan smiled. “I read more in the first chamber than I revealed, Inquisitor. A great boon is given to those who use the Well of Sorrows, but at a terrible price.”

 

“What did the altar say? In entirety, please,” Cullen said. 

 

“Like most elven writing, it was insufferably vague,” Morrigan scoffed. “The term I deciphered was ‘halam-shivanas,’ the sweet sacrifice of duty. It implies the loss of something personal for duty’s sake, yet for those who serve at this temple, it seems a worthwhile trade.”

 

“So using this well would - what? Curse us?” Cullen folded his arms.

 

“T’would be easier by far to advise you a curse. This price is not so well defined.”

 

“And the boon?” Evelyn asked. 

 

“It must be valuable for Corypheus to risk your army to come here,” Morrigan replied. 

 

Evelyn shouldered her sword. “If the boon is power, then…” She sighed. “Then we should take it.”

 

“You can’t be serious!” Cullen stared at her. “This is ancient elven magic!” 

 

“After what we saw Corypheus do, can we really leave it be?” Evelyn asked fervently. 

 

“Make no mistake, Inquisitor, my priority is your cause,” Morrigan said. “But should the opportunity arise to save this well, I am willing to pay the price.”

 

“And gain what?” Cullen demanded. 

 

“That is what we must discover,” Morrigan tilted her head. “The rituals may point the way.”

 

“We don’t have time for this!” Cullen snapped. 

 

“Inquisitor, we may need to lose time to save it,” Evelyn said. “Maker, I wish you had cemented that alliance with the Qunari, but that was not the case--”

 

“The Chargers--” Cullen began. 

 

“I know! You wouldn’t have given Bull any other order, and don’t I know it. But now, after what we’ve seen Corypheus do, we need an edge. Any edge. Even if it is old elven magic, we should work with it as it was intended.”

 

Cullen stared at her. He had feared that she would rush on ahead, now it seemed that he was the one being foolhardy, so eager was he to catch up to Samson. The wisest course in the long run was to work with the temple, not to barge through it. He could only guess what this advice must be costing Evelyn to give, after what Samson did to her. He stared at the door towering over them. “Very well,” he said finally. “Let’s do these rituals.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maker, if Cullen drinks from the Well... he'd be Flemeth's minion o.o;


	40. The Well of Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta-ed.

The Path of the Penitent was a pattern. It was not the simplest of puzzles, but to Cullen, it was not difficult to work out the pattern and in so doing, unravel the path. He was a little annoyed by the way the others were so amused and impressed by this. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t a thought in his head. He read books! He knew math! “Ugh, stop smiling,” Cullen complained as he descended from the last of the paths they could find. The tiles ceased to glow yellow behind him.

 

“I’m impressed,” Evelyn smiled warmly.

 

“That I have a brain?” he asked acidly as they made their way to the main doors.

 

Varric chuckled. “Don’t be upset, Curly, we know you’re smart,” he consoled.

 

“Thanks,” Cullen said acidly.

 

The door was indeed open, revealing the chamber within, with its towering ceiling and golden glimmering tiles across the floor. Mosaics of crystal lined the walls, reflecting what little light there was ti illuminate the whole chamber. Cullen paused before the door and looked down at the sword in his hand. He hated to admit this, but the place felt… sacred. Holy. He was an Andrastean to the death, but to walk into a place of worship with weapons drawn felt blasphemous. He drew a breath and sheathed his sword, slipping his shield onto his back.

 

“What are you doing?” Cassandra demanded.

 

“It’s-- you can’t bring weapons drawn into a temple,” Cullen said, frowning. “Just put them away, I don’t know why, but it feels right.”

 

He caught Solas smiling slightly at him. Cullen ignored it. He walked into the temple as the others stowed their weapons away. The moment the last of them stepped in, the door swung shut. Evelyn turned to stop the door but it silently sealed just as she put her hands on it. She pushed against the door. “Maker’s breath!” she snarled.

 

“Tis not what I expected,” Morrigan said quietly, her voice low and reverent in this sacred place. “What was this chamber used for?”

 

Cullen felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He looked up into the shadows of the mezzanine balconies that overlooked the chamber. “They’ll let us out when they’re ready, I think,” he said, his voice echoing.

 

“They?” Cassandra asked.

 

“We’re being watched,” Varric said.

 

Cullen looked up at the balcony before him, the sound of footsteps clicking, reverberating through the air. “Venavis!”

 

Cullen stopped. A figure approached the edge of the balcony, his arms crossed, his head hooded. The gold of his armour glinted in the crystalline glimmer of the walls. Yellow eyes looked down at him from a shadowed face. Those eyes were familiar. They reminded him of Morrigan’s. “You… are unlike the other invaders,” said the figure. “You bear the mark of magic which is… familiar.”

 

Cullen glanced down at his hand. Familiar? Perhaps so, if the mark came from an elven foci. “How has this come to pass?” asked the figure. “What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

 

“They are my enemies,” Cullen replied.

 

The figure’s eyes narrowed. Then he lowered his arms. “I am called Abelas,” he said. “We are sentinels, tasked with standing against those who would trespass on sacred ground.” Cullen could see glints in the shadows above them now, the glints of arrow tips and golden armour and yellow eyes. “We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with every invasion.” Cullen looked back to Abelas, who was pacing thoughtfully, watching him. “I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you seek to drink from the Vir’abelasan.”

 

“The place of the way of sorrows,” Morrigan hissed. “He speaks of the Well.”

 

Abelas stopped, looking down at Cullen. “It is not for you. It is not for _any_ of you.”

 

“You are truly elves from ancient times?” Cullen asked, overcome with curiosity. “Before Tevinter destroyed Arlathan?”

 

“The Shemlen did not destroy Arlathan. We elves warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors of this sanctuary closed, our time was over.”

 

Cullen’s eyes widened. That was against every history book he had ever read in his life. “But… that’s not what we--”

 

“You would not know the truth,” Abelas said. “Your history is as short as the pool of your years.

 

“But the Imperium _did_ wage war upon the elves.”

 

“The war of carrion feasting upon a corpse, yes. We awake only when called, and each time, find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We endure - the Vir’Abelesan must be preserved.”

 

Cullen tilted his head. “And this Vir’Abelasan… what is it exactly?”

 

“It is a path,” Abelas replied. “One walked by those who toiled in Mythal’s favour.”

 

“Does he mean priests?” Cassandra murmured.

 

“More than that, you need not know,” Abelas said firmly.

 

Cullen glanced at Solas. “Solas, can you speak to him?” he muttered.

 

“What shall I say, Inquisitor?” Solas hissed back. “Shall I sway him from a millenia of service by virtue of our shared blood? He clings to all that remains to his world because he lacks the power to restore it.”

 

Cullen sighed and looked at Evelyn and Morrigan. They needed an edge? And yet, if Cullen could avoid touching ancient elven magic… unknown magics had already ripped the sky asunder. Could he afford to release more? He looked up at Abelas. “We did not come here to fight you, Abelas,” he said, his voice echoing in the chamber. “Nor to despoil your temple. We only came to stop Corypheus from taking your well.”

 

Abelas looked down at him, his hand on his chin, his eyes calculating. “I believe you,” Abelas said finally. Cullen contained his sigh of relief. “Trespassers you are, but you have followed the rites of petition and have shown respect for Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them.” Cullen smiled slightly. “Once that is done, you will be permitted to depart, never to return.”

 

“Consider carefully,” Morrigan hissed. “We are here to stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the well for your own.”

 

“We’ll see, Lady Morrigan,” Cullen replied. “The thought of fighting the last of their kind does not thrill me.”

 

He looked up at Abelas. “I accept,” he said.

 

“Then you will be guided to those you seek,” Abelas said, pointing to a door that now swung open on silent hinges. A bent elven mage stood there, leaning on his staff, bearing a heavy tome. “As for the Vir’Abelasan, it shall not be despoiled, even if I have to destroy it myself.” He turned from then then, the sounds of his boots clicking in the hall as he strode into the shadows.

 

“No!” Morrigan cried.

 

“Morrigan!” Cullen reached out for her, but she flashed with lightning and flew off with a heart-stopping flutter of black feathers. Cullen watched the crow that was Morrigan fly off after Abelas.

 

“Fuck!” Cullen spat.

 

“We might as well follow that elf,” Cassandra said.

 

“And hope that Morrigan doesn’t do anything that turns these sentinels on us,” Varric added.

 

Cullen turned from the balcony, shaking his head. Evelyn fell in step beside him as they followed the elf, walking before them with his staff tapping the ground with every other step. “I’m beginning to wonder about Lady Morrigan’s priorities,” she muttered. “She sounds like she only wants the Well.”

 

“I know,” Cullen replied tersely. “We’ll see what happens, shall we?”

 

She nodded. “Get your cheek looked at when we get back,” she murmured softly.

 

“I will,” he replied, his voice tender. Stupid. He really should have trusted her to contain her anger. But he would never stop worrying for her.

 

Their path took them through corridors lined with mosaics. Most were still on the walls, but some had shattered, perhaps in the fighting with Samson or Calpernia or Maker knew who else. Cullen could hear distant battles through sealed doors, but their silent guide did not pay any mind to those noises. “I’m glad we made this alliance,” Varric said fervently. “The less shit we have to walk through, the better.”

 

“I’d have thought you’d want to fight,” Cullen said to the dwarf.

 

“Fighting Venatori, sure. But fighting these elves is like stomping on a flower you know is the last of its kind. I really don’t want to be the person who has to do that.”

 

“I know,” Cullen replied. He hoped the alliance would hold. He did not want to be the person who was responsible for destroying this new insight into history. The elves could change every history book in the world - provided any of them were willing to speak. What Abelas said in the chamber about Tevinter destroying an already decaying race intrigued him. What were the elves like before that?

 

Cullen got distracted by the mosaics at one point. Unable to resist any longer, he went to the wall and ran his finger over the tiles. “What sort of glass is this?” he asked, his voice reverberating in the small room.

 

Solas walked over to him and bent to pick up a small shard from the ground. “It’s quartz,” Solas replied. “All of it is.”

 

“What?” Cullen exclaimed. “All-- every shard is quartz? Even the green ones?”

 

“The elves of old were nothing if not full of ingenuity,” Solas smiled, almost pleased to see him amazed. “And this, as you can tell, is one of our oldest sanctums.”

 

Our. Solas rarely used that word to associate with elves. Solas put the shard of quartz onto Cullen’s palm. “I doubt they would mind,” Solas said.

 

Cullen glanced at their guide, already tottering off in the distance. He cleared his throat and pocketed the quartz. Their guide called back to them in elvish and Cullen and the others hurried on. Evie nudged him as they lingered at the back of the group. She put her finger on her lip and reached into her waist pack. She drew out a whole tile, glittering like frozen seawater on her palm. He stared at her in surprise as she slipped it into his waist pack. She winked at him.

 

Cullen shook his head, a smile of both amusement and love coming to his lips. They could die soon. He leaned down to kiss her cheek in thanks, her cheeks tinging when he pulled away. She drew a deep breath, her eyes troubled, but she seemed to pull herself together. He reached into his waist pack and then took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. She looked down at the thing in her palm when he let go. “You do the honours,” he smiled. Her answering grin was wicked.

 

They would come back. They would all come back.

 

Their guide stopped before two massive doors. The elf stood there silently. Cullen headed to the door and the elf departed. There were  mosaics on this door, blue quartz depicting a woman in a well, supplicants all around her with water… flowing onto them? Cullen pushed open the doors to the well. They swung with eerie silence, revealing the grotto beyond. Rising from what looked like a bottomless abyss, was a spire of earth surrounded by towering cliffs. Waterfalls hung from the lip of the cliffs like locks of golden hair. At the top of the spire was what looked like a pool, glittering in the sunlight that spilled over the top of the cliffs. The statue of Mythal rising over the pool above a mirror. Below, dark water flowing from the pool into channels paved with more crystal. Rainbow-plumed birds burst from the trees that grew around the Well’s spire. Cullen felt his breath catch in his throat.

 

“So Mythal endures,” Solas murmured.

 

“Andraste, guide us,” Cassandra breathed in awe and dread. Cullen lowered his eyes to the courtyard before the spire. Figures stood there, the yellow grass stained with dark blood. That this place would be despoiled by Samson and his ilk… Corypheus should have left these ancient elves to their slumber, left this temple to eternal embrace obscurity, forgotten. But now, here he was, dragged into a space that he knew to be sacred, yet not of the Chantry, allied with elves from the mists of history. Cullen would not let them take that Well, whatever it was. He drew his blade silently and readied his shield. Weapons drawn, they descended the stairs to the courtyard.

 

The Red Templars were finishing up the last of the temple’s guardians who had stood against them here. “You tough bastards,” Cullen heard Samson say as he stepped onto the courtyard’s grass. “A day’s march, hours of fighting and still as fierce as dragons!”

 

Calpernia stood before the spire, gazing up at the well. “So close,” her voice carried to them. “The Well knows its vessel…”

 

“Then get to it,” Samson snapped at her. “Or shall I tell the Master that you’re dallying cost him the world.”

 

Calpernia turned then, and Cullen set eyes on her for the first time. Her blond hair caught the fading sunlight, glowing like a halo. She looked at him with eyes that pierced like shards. Her face was weary and her skin sallow, but there was an aura about her. She was destined for greatness. She drew the eye despite her plain features. She could change Tevinter, Cullen recalled Alexius saying, were the not the Vessel.

 

Samson turned then, and those were eyes Cullen knew. Bloodshot and red-rimmed, his face drawn and weary, but showing none of the deformation that red lyrium brought. The man Cullen knew to be decent once, before… Meredith destroyed him as Cullen stood by and did nothing. And now, Samson had taken these Templars, Cullen’s brothers and sisters, and turned them into monsters. How armour glowed with red lyrium shards wrought into the metal itself. “Cullen,” he spat. “You’ve got a damn long reach…” He smiled then. “And the Commander… I hope your Sophia’s home-coming was everything you hoped.”

 

Evelyn said nothing. Cullen could feel the rage pouring off her, but she stood still by his side.

 

“Samson,” Cullen greeted. “We’ve come a long way from sharing quarters, haven’t we?”

 

“You’ve no idea,” Samson laughed.

 

Calpernia stepped forward then and Cullen saw the disdain on Samson’s face. “Stand aside, Inquisitor,” she said, her voice ringing with fervour and fire. “The trials you have set me, I have overcome. As a courtesy, leave now or not at all.”

 

“Calpernia,” Cullen said. “Your lust for power has blinded you. Corypheus is using you!”

 

“Think on your own folly before inventing more,” Calpernia replied. “You serve your people. You have one last chance to save them.”

 

Cullen stopped short. He was not expecting this of a follower of Corypheus. Calpernia was different. “Do you even know what the well is?” he asked.

 

“The Well of Sorrows is knowledge,” she smiled at him. “Power abandoned by those elves worshiped as gods. To walk the Fade without the Anchor, that is what the well will grant Corypheus.”

 

“At what cost?” Cullen demanded. “Do you think he will let you use this knowledge to free the slaves in Tevinter?”

 

“And what would you do with this knowledge?” Calpernia laughed. “I knew you would drink from the well, try to use its knowledge to defeat Corypheus. But you are just a child playing with a sword. Corypheus would wield it as a master!”

 

“Wield you, you mean. Do you know what he intends to do with his vessel?”

 

“And what would you know about the will of the Master?” Samson snapped. “You were always the upstart, Cullen - sucking up to those who knew better than you, pretending to be cut from the same cloth. Now you pretend to know the mind of a god?”

 

“Corypheus is no god!” Cullen shouted. He pointed with his sword. “You sang the chants the same as I, Samson! You sold your soul to a darkspawn magister!”

 

“The Chantry used us, Cullen!” Samson sneered. “Used you, used me, used your precious bed-mate. Oh yes, dear Sophia told me a lot of things when the red took her mind. I know all about you and your fear of the mark, of your quitting lyrium, your weakness to temptation - you know she’s using you.”

 

“Die, Samson,” Evelyn growled, shaking, her eyes wet.

 

“Me? Actually, why not me, love?” he chuckled. He spread his arms extravagantly. “I am the general for a god who will own the world. Want to trade up, Commander? Want to see what red lyrium can do for a man’s… vigour?”

 

Evelyn’s sword was steady even as her shoulders started to shake with rage. “You sicken me, Samson!” Cullen snarled. “I thought you decent once! So we were used, so what? Now you let yourself be used as a leash? For Calpernia?”

 

“A leash?” Calpernia laughed. “Samson?”

 

“Corypheus plans to bind you, Calpernia!” Cullen shouted. “Once you’re the vessel, he will use a ritual to turn you right back into a slave! And Samson will be your keeper! Why do you think he never let you into the shrine, but allowed Samson? Because he was guarding his cage - the cage meant for you!”

 

Her eyes widened barely perceptibly. “That… where I come from, idle tales must be proven.”

 

“Oh yes,” Samson laughed. “Keep barking, Cullen. I always knew Fereldans were dogs. But I think it’s time I shut your mangy mouth.” He made a fist, stroking the red lyrium crystal wrought in his gauntlet. “Being force-fed lyrium was good for something, this armour makes me a living fortress.”

 

“Glowing blue, runes across the barrier, bound to the ground by magic channeled in through three foci,” Cullen said ignoring Samson.

 

Calpernia stared at him, horror slowly claiming her eyes.

 

A burst of power flowed from Samson’s body, the crystals glowing red. “I won’t kill you, Cullen,” Samson grinned. “I’ll turn you red, just like me. We’ll serve our god just like old times!”

 

Cullen kept his eyes locked on Calpernia. “Forced to answer any question put to you - resistance causes the barrier to flash red, breaching the seal around its perimeter turns you to dust! Does that sound familiar? It was the prototype we found in the Shrine, used on Alexius! Samson was guarding it!”

 

“Still just words!” Calpernia growled.

 

Samson was working himself up into a frenzy as Cullen took two steps forward and bent to the ground, scratching in the dirt with the tip of his sword.

 

“Cullen you bastard,” Samson called. “Come on! Raise your sword, you waited years for this!”

 

Cullen had to make her see - if she knew Corypheus’s lies, he could weaken the enemy, perhaps he only had to face one foe, not two. He did not want to fight Calpernia! She was being used! “This!” Cullen said stepping back. He pointed at the ground, runes scratched in the earth. “They surrounded the barrier. These and many others. Do you want me to keep writing?”

 

Calpernia was staring at the ground now, her face pale. “No one has written those runes since…”

 

“Enough!” Samson snarled. He stood tall, a blast of power bursting from his body and pushing a Cullen step back. “This is the strength the Chantry tried to bind, Cullen!” He reared up, the crystals glowing like stoked flames. “But it’s a new world now, with a new god! I will bring Corypheus the Well’s power and your head - all at once!”

 

“He made so many promises!” Calpernia snarled. “And every one, a lie! Vanhedis kafas vas! If Corypheus would misuse me, he’d misuse them as well! I was blind!”

 

Cullen had her! His head throbbed at the sound of Samson’s voice. “Shut him up, Commander!” Cullen snapped.

 

“Gladly,” Evelyn growled, drawing out a rune from her waist pack. She held it up. The rune Dagna made flashed with a dull red glow, then the vibrations poured from it, shaking Cullen to the very bones.

 

“What--” Samson breathed. Then the cracks began to thunder around them, the red lyrium crystals both in Samson’s armour and in the bodies of the red templars began to flicker with cracks spidering across the surface. Samson looked down at his gauntlets, the crystals losing their glow. “What did you do?” he croaked in horror. “ _What did you do?_ ”

 

“Tevinter still needs a strong leader, Calpernia!” Cullen said, thinking of Dorian.

 

“The lyrium…” Samson choked. “I _need_ it!”

 

“As if you’d let me walk away!” Calpernia scoffed. “Listen, if any power can challenge him, it lies in the Well! Perhaps its price is too high, but if you can pay it, take it! Humble him!”

 

“No!” Samson snarled, lashing out at her.

 

“Samson!” Cullen cried.

 

Samson grabbed Calpernia’s neck, lifting her off the ground, his eyes wild. “You traitorous bitch!”

 

Calpernia’s hands flared with magic, her eyes flashing. Samson’s body wreathed with fire. He screamed as Calpernia set him ablaze. The red templars ran to the aid of their leader, but Samson’s scream changed from one of pain to one of rage. His body arched back painfully. Cullen gaped as Samson straightened up, a head taller than before, Calpernia’s fire quenched. Samson raised her high and threw her. The stricken cry stuck in Cullen’s throat as Calpernia hung in the air for an eternity, then fell over the edge of the spire into the abyss.

 

Cullen stared, frozen in shock and guilt. Samson turned his blood red eyes to him, his teeth bared in a snarl. “Then I will be the vessel!” he hissed, suddenly grinning. “The master will understand. I won’t forget a word of the Well’s knowledge… I’ll give it all to Corypheus…”

 

“You…” Cullen snarled.

 

“To arms!” Samson crowed to his Red Templars. He drew his blade, a sword Cullen had not seen in years. “For your God, your general and the new vessel of Corypheus!”

 

Samson charged, flanked by the Red Templars. Cullen met the charge, the others running with him. Samson swung his sword, wide and reckless. Cullen deflected it with his shield, the blade smashing into the ground with a terrifying impact. “Look familiar?” Samson grinned, his eyes wide and mad. “A little token from Meredith. Your buddies guarding her died, Cullen!”

 

“Son of a bitch!” Cullen slashed at Samson. Samson pulled his blade from the ground and parried the blow. Samson deflected a greatsword blow with his armour, the remnants of red lyrium sparking weakly. His arm closed over the blade, pinning it against his armoured side. Evelyn pulled herself on the blade and kicked him in the chest. Samson staggered back, freeing her blade. “Flank him!” Cullen snapped.

 

Evelyn and Cullen charged him, side by side. Cullen slashed at Samson, the man blocking the strike with his blade as expected. Cullen ducked the blade’s swing and smashed his shield edge into the side of Samson’s knee. Evelyn’s blade strike was caught by Samson’s own as he staggered. The impact of their swords crossing tossed Cullen’s furs. “I’m going to kill you, you dickless maggot!” Evelyn snarled.

 

Samson roared and went for her. Evelyn ran back, giving ground as Samson charged her. All around him, Cullen could hear the fighting - the others battled the red templars, but here, it was just him and Evelyn, pinning Samson down. Samson suddenly turned and swung his sword at Cullen. Cullen ducked back just in time, sliding to his knees. Samson roared turning the sword in the swing to cut down at him. Evelyn’s blade caught the sword again, Cullen took the opening and cut deep into Samson’s side. Samson pulled free of Evelyn’s parry and his blade swung for Cullen. Cullen blocked it, but not soon enough. He winced, blood spurting from his shoulder, the red song suddenly spilling from the blade into his mind.

 

Samson crowed as Cullen staggered back. Evelyn struck at him from behind, but Samson was too fast. He blocked the strike with his pauldron and turned to Evelyn. He drove the pommel of his blade into her head. Evelyn cried out and fell back, staggering. Samson reared over them, arching back as his body twisted, the red lyrium flashing weakly. He straightened up taller than before. Cullen charged, his shield arm shaking from the wound to his shoulder. Samson swung his massive sword at him again, Cullen ducked. The man’s size was making his blows easier to dodge, but far more powerful. Cullen felt a barrier springing up over him as Solas cast his spell. He got in close to Samson, Samson moved to kick him. Cullen’s shield caught the kick, the impact shaking his whole body, but Cullen saw the opening he needed. Blood sprayed across his face as he cut open the back of Samson’s knee. The man screamed. Knees, elbows, neck and sides - no armour was perfect.

 

Evelyn charged then, blood pouring down her face. Samson tried to strike down at Cullen. Cullen sprang to his feet and parried the blow, the sword striking the earth. Crossbow bolts fired into Samson’s side. Then Cassandra was there, running up the massive blade and with a powerful kick, knocked Samson’s hands from the handle. The blade dropped heavily to the ground. Cullen saw Evelyn run up the staggering Samson’s back, hold on with one hand, and turn her sword over. She screamed as she brought the pommel down on Samson’s head hard. The massive form of Samson fell to his knees. To Cullen’s horror and surprise, the man tried to swipe at him. Cullen hit him in the head with the edge of his shield. Then bit hack the cry of pain as his wound bloomed in agony.

 

Evelyn stood over Samson, the three warriors breathing hard. Samson groaned on the ground, his body twisting and returning to its normal size. “You mustn’t take the Well, you wretch…” he hissed. Evelyn ran up and with a furious scream, kicked him in the head. Samson fell silent. Evelyn stood beside him, shaking with anger, blood running down the side of her face, her hair caked with blood. Cullen braced to stop her, but she did not move to hurt Samson any more.

 

“Still alive?” Varric muttered, walking over as he held his side. “That’s some damned good armour.”

 

“We should take him back for judgement,” Evelyn said softly. Cullen looked at her in surprise.

 

“Cullen,” Cassandra said, moving his shield arm. Cullen cried out. The side of Cassandra’s armour was caked with red lyrium. But she ignored it. She was resistant to the stuff, after all. Cullen envied her. The song was ripping his head apart, in addition to the pain in his shoulder.

 

“I’m fine!” Cullen exclaimed.

 

“Don’t be foolish!” she scolded. “Solas! Can you stop the bleeding?”

 

“I can--” Solas said, walking up to them. But then a figure appeared over the verandah of the balcony that led to the main doors. Cullen looked up to see Abelas sail through the air and land gracefully on the courtyard’s grass. Abelas shot them a glance and then raced for the well. “Abelas!” Cullen shouted. Wound forgotten, he pounded after Abelas.

 

Rocks sprang from the ground, forming a stairway up to the spire upon which the well rested. The power to defeat Corypheus was in the well, Calpernia said before she died. The thought that Abelas sought to destroy it now made Cullen’s stomach twist in fear.

 

The elf was at the top of the stairs now, Cullen would never be able to catch up. Then acrow sailed overhead and Cullen saw the purple lightning burst from above. Cullen panted when he caught up, then winced from the pain in his wound. He dared not put his sword away. He could feel the blood running down the inside of his leathers now. Abelas stood before Morrigan, who blocked the way to the Well. The others caught up with him, and Cullen saw the blood pouring from a wound on Evelyn’s head, staining her white armour red. Cassandra’s armour was caked with red crystals along one side, and Varric was bleeding from a wound to his jaw. Only Solas managed to escape unscathed.

 

“You heard his parting words, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said. “The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows!”

 

Abelas backed away from them. “So the sanctum is despoiled at last,” he said.

 

“You would have destroyed the well yourself, given the chance!” Morrigan snapped.

 

“To keep it from your grasping fingers! Better it be destroyed than bestowed on the undeserving!”

 

“Fool!” Morrigan shouted. “You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows--”

 

“Enough!” Cullen snapped. He was feeling dizzy from the wound.

 

“You cannot honestly--” Morrigan turned her flashing eyes to him.

 

“I said enough!” Cullen’s voice boomed. How deep had Samson got him? He winced and put his sword and shield away reluctantly, then pressed his hand over the wound. “This talk of legacy is getting us nowhere.”

 

Abelas looked at him.

 

“Abelas,’ Cullen said softly. “I’m sorry, we have need of the Well.”

 

Abelas shook his head. “Do you even know what you ask?” he breathed. He turned to the Well, looking at its crystalline waters. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on, through this.” He looked at Cullen. “All that we were, all that we knew would be lost forever.”

 

“It already is,” Cullen said softly, sweating as he pressed down on the wound. “The elves now no longer even know of your existence, or of this place.”

 

Abelas’s eyes saddened. “I know.”

 

“Why remain?” Morrigan asked, sounding almost compassionate. “Why perform a duty without purpose?”

 

“There are other places, friend,” Solas said. “Other duties. Your people yet linger.”

 

“Elvhen such as you?” Abelas asked.

 

“Yes, such as I.”

 

Abelas turned his eyes to Morrigan, to Cullen, then to the Well, lost in thought. When he finally spoke, there was the shadow of resignation in his voice. “You have shown respect for Mythal,” Abelas said. “And there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny.” He turned to Cullen. “Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir’Abelasan to fight your enemy?”

 

“At what cost?” Cullen asked.

 

“No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost. The Well may be too much for a mortal to comprehend.” Abelas smiled faintly. He turned away from the Well to leave. Then he paused and looked over his shoulder at Cullen. “Know you this, you shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

 

“Bound to a goddess who longer exists, if she ever did?” Morrigan scoffed.

 

“Bound as we are bound,” Abelas replied. “The choice is yours.”

 

“Is Mythal still… around?” Cullen asked.

 

“Anything is possible,” Abelas replied.

 

“Elven legend states that Mythal was banished to the Beyond by Fen’Harel,” Morrigan pointed out.

 

“”Elven” legend is wrong,” Abelas said firmly. “The Dread Wolf has nothing to do with her murder.”

 

“Murder?” Cullen blinked.

 

“She was slain, as any god truly can be, betrayed by those who destroyed this temple. Yet the Vir’Abelasan remains, as do we. That is something.” He turned away.

 

“Are you leaving the temple?” Cullen asked. “Where will you go?”

 

“Our duty ends,” Abelas shrugged. “Why remain?”

 

“There is a place for you Lethallin,” Solas said. “If you seek it.”

 

Abelas smiled faintly. “Perhaps there are places the shemlen have not touched. It may be that only uthenera awaits us - the blissful sleep of eternity, never to awaken.”

 

Cullen looked at the well, then at Abelas. “You could come with us,” he said simply. “Fight Corypheus - he killed your people.”

 

Abelas shook his head. “We killed ourselves long ago.”

 

“Malas amelin na halam, Abelas,” Solas said.

 

Abelas nodded at Solas and then turned, leaving them at the well. “His name,” Solas said quietly. “Abelas means sorrow. I said, I hoped he finds a new name.”

 

Cullen sighed and turned back to the well, hoping that Abelas and his kind would find some peace. “You’ll note the intact eluvian?” Morrigan said, gesturing to the mirror at the other end of the pool. She sighed. “I was correct on that count, at least.”

 

“Is that still a threat?” Cullen asked. “Can Corypheus still use it to travel the Fade?”

 

“You’ll recall when I took you through my Eluvian I said each required a key? This well is the key. Take its power, and Mythal’s last eluvian will be no more use to Corypheus than glass.”

 

“How would you know that?” Cullen asked. But Morrigan wasn’t listening. She stared down at the Well. “Morrigan?”

 

“I did not expect the well to feel so… hungry,” she murmured.

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Morrigan,” he said firmly.

 

She stared at the well for a moment longer, her eyes hungry for the waters. Then she turned to him. “I am willing to pay the price the well demands,” she said. “I am also best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

 

“After your display earlier, I find that too convenient,” Evelyn snapped.

 

“Or more likely use the well to your own ends,” Solas said.

 

“What would you know of my “ends,” elf?” Morrigan snapped back at Solas.

 

“You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast! You cannot be trusted!”

 

“Of those present, I alone have the training to make use of this,” she turned to Cullen. “Let me drink, Inquisitor.”

 

“Training?” Cullen asked. “What training?”

 

“I have studied the oldest lore! I have delved into mysteries of which you could only dream! Can you honestly tell me there is anyone better suited?”

 

“Solas is as much a mage as you.”

 

“No,” Solas said with sudden vehemence. “Do not ask me again.”

 

Cullen glanced at him.

 

“I have the best chance of making use of the well,” Morrigan repeated, “for _everyone._ Let me drink.”

 

“And this “bound forever to the will of Mythal” business does not concern you?”

 

“Bound to the will of a dead god?” Morrigan smiled. “It seems an empty warning. Perhaps a compulsion yet remains. Who can say otherwise? I do not fear it, even so.”

 

Cullen stared at her. He feared the magic of the well, but he feared it even more in the hands of someone he couldn’t trust. He wasn’t sure of Morrigan’s intentions. She seemed so eager to drink, so eager for the knowledge. Could he afford to lose that knowledge? What if Morrigan left? “What’s to stop you from taking it and leaving?” Cullen asked.

 

“My word,” Morrigan replied. “If that seems insufficient, Corypheus threatens us all - even myself. He must be stopped.”

 

“And who stops you?” Cullen met her golden gaze.

 

“I, Inquisitor, seek neither immortality nor your life.”

 

Cullen stared at the waters. He could feel the compulsion from the waters. He knew what that was - it was not just knowledge the well would give. The collective will of the priests resided in the waters. Still, if there was to be strange magic… He knew the danger of magic misused in the hands of those who thought they were doing the right thing. There were people here he trusted more than Morrigan. Evelyn, Cassandra, himself. Even Varric, though he suspected that the dwarf would sooner jump off the side of the spire than drink from the well.

 

“I will drink,” he said then.

 

“What?” Morrigan exclaimed.

 

“Cassandra, Evelyn,” he said over his shoulder. “Should my ability to lead be compromised by this, I’ll need you to take steps.”

 

“Cullen, if it is a choice between you and her then let her drink it,” Cassandra said. “Maker help us all.”

 

“I cannot afford to let this power loose on the world,” Cullen said.

 

“So you would take what little knowledge you can understand and let the rest go to waste?” Morrigan demanded.

 

“It won’t go to waste,” Cullen said calmly, even as he screamed on the inside. It was something he had to do, and he would push past the fear.

 

“How will it not go to waste?” Morrigan exclaimed.

 

“I’ll write it down,” Cullen replied cooly, wincing as pain flared from his wound. “One need not understand something to preserve it. I’ll let the scholars argue.”

 

Morrigan looked at him in frustration as if he were an utter fool, and perhaps he was. But he was not going to let this power out of here in anyone’s hands but his.

 

“Are you… sure?” Evelyn asked.

 

Cullen nodded dully. What was he doing? What he had to. Maker… this was madness! But the well whispered to him then, a soothing sigh across his mind like the breath of a breeze. It was alive… He had to trust Cassandra and Evelyn. Should the well compromise him, they would take steps to remove him. He had to believe that. Or he could remove himself… if possible. Still the well beckoned him.

 

Morrigan looked at the waters, biting her lip. “Perhaps it is better this way,” she said in resignation. “Do as you will with the Well of Sorrows, Inquisitor. But be careful.” Morrigan stepped back from the well.

 

Cullen grit his jaw, his heart pounding over the sound of the well’s whispers. He took a step forward into the waters, seeing the surface ripple, sunlight dancing over the surface almost joyfully. Another step in, he stood on the bottom now, the water coming to his knees.

 

“This is a whole… lot of weird,” Varric muttered behind him.

 

The waters began to glow with shimmering blue light. Cullen gasped, but the well called to him, reached to him, like a lover’s embrace. Cullen walked to the centre of the waters, the world fading from view in the blue glow that filled his mind. This… this was better than lyrium. The whole world sang. He reached down to the water, the remnants of his blood on his glove fading into blue shimmers. He lifted a handful of the well to his lips, his heart beating like it did with his first philter… and drank.

 

The song exploded inside him, an echoing crescendo that rose to the heavens. He gasped, shudders of pleasure washing over him. The whispers began, hidden in the song. He stared into the sky, shadows forming amid the blue light. “Garas quenathra?” the whisper hissed through him. Understanding bloomed in his mind. _Why are you here?_

 

“Corypheus…” Cullen breathed. “A magister wishes to rip open the veil… I have to stop him. I must know how.”

 

The whispers drowned the song then. Cullen gripped his head as they tore through him. Whispers on the edge of understanding, whispers he could hear - tantalizing meaning out of reach. _North… fallen… the orb…_ He gasped. A thousand voices, in discourse - discussing, speaking, they were unsure of him. “Is that a yes or a not or what?” Cullen shouted. _Bound…_ “I don’t--” Cullen grated. _Speaks… the Calling…_

 

He hissed when the words came clear once more. “Vir mythal’enaste,” the whisper breathed through his body. Cullen felt the hand of fate close around him. He cried out, light flashing in his eyes. Then he sank to his knees, the chorus of whispers breathing like the wind. _The path of Mythal’s favour_ … Was she real? Darkness closed in.

 

“Maker, please,” Evelyn’s voice echoed in the dark. “Don’t take him away from me…”

 

Cullen opened his eyes, staring up into the sky. The trees above him swayed gently in the breeze. Evelyn leaned over him. “Cullen!” she breahed when he blinked awake.

 

“Ma’arlath,” he whispered, blinking blearily. Evelyn stared at him in puzzlement. He gasped and pushed himself to his feet, whispering hissing all around him, now further away. He staggered, walking blearily, the heels of his hands on his temples.Where there had once been water in the pool, it was now empty. _Close… close…_ “Vir sumeil? Nae, is gar’mala...”

 

Someone grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. “Cullen!” Evelyn shouted, shaking him. The whispers stopped. He blinked at her and winced as the pain from the wound intruded on his consciousness. “Shit!” he grated, holding his wound.

 

“He sounds better now,” Varric said mildly.

 

Cullen looked up. “He’s coming!” he exclaimed.

 

“What?” Cassandra gasped and drew her sword.

 

Cullen whipped around, staring at the doors to the temple. There, striding in, was a figure. Cullen felt a chill when Corypheus looked at him. The scream of rage from the ancient magister echoed over the sound of the waterfall. “Through the mirror!” Morrigan snapped. Cullen ran to the glass and touched it. The eluvian awoke with a flash of blue light. Cullen looked over his shoulder as they ran through into the gray Crossroads beyond. Evelyn paused before the glass, Corypheus flying through the air on a cloud of darkness. He saw her look at the glass and raise her sword as beyond her, the empty pool flared with blue light. “No!” he cried. “Maker, no!” He reached out for her as her sword swung. Then the mirror went dark just as he reached it.

 

Cullen’s hands grasped black glass. He stared at it, his eyes wide in horror, his breath stilling in his throat. She broke the mirror! She was at the Well, with Corypheus! She was going to die! His hands balled into fists on the dark glass and his head hung low. Cullen’s guttural scream of loss and fear and helplessness echoed throughout the Crossroads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you put it in your mouth~ Oh, well, too late. 
> 
> Chapter 40! Holy crap! Cullen Quizzie adventure has taken on a life of its own!


	41. The Vassal of Mythal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> un-beta-ed!

The dark glass cracked under Cullen’s blow as he straightened up. He turned to the others, who were looking at him with a certain wariness mixed with pity. “Stop it!” he snapped at them, his voice echoing over the eternal distant creaking of the Crossroads. His face burned with anger. Stupid - stupid Evelyn! “We have to get back. Morrigan, do any of these open up to the temple?”

 

“It is… unlikely,” she said. “Even if they did, we do not have the key to open them from here.”

 

“Then yours at Skyhold?”

 

“Can be opened, yes.”

 

“Take us there.”

 

Morrigan nodded and led the way through the Crossroads. Cullen looked at Solas, who was staring into the gray distance. “Solas,” he called.

 

Solas blinked and looked at him. “Forgive me,” he said. “The place looks different.”

 

“You’ve been here before?”

 

“In the Fade, I have seen it.”

 

Cullen asked no more questions, striding after Morrigan. She knew her way around the Crossroads, which was a blessing. Everything looked the same to Cullen. “Curly,” Varric said, his voice low, comforting. “Giggles is hard to kill. She’ll be fine.”

 

Cullen’s jaw tensed. “Thank you,” he said tersely and walked away from Varric. He did not want comfort, not now. He wanted her back. He wanted the army back at Skyhold. Everyone was in the Wilds while he was stuck here between-worlds. They should have fought Corypheus then and there!

 

“ _Ma ju ema’dinem,_ ” the Well whispered from the depths of his bones. _You would have died._

 

“Shut up!” Cullen snapped at the silent air. The others glanced at him, but said nothing.

 

The Crossroads was growing more familiar now. Cullen recognized it, recognized the mirror he and Morrigan had walked through. She woke the glass and they stepped through. The chamber beyond was dark. It was night now, the sunset he experienced in the Wilds had since Faded here. “Seal it,” he commanded Morrigan and strode out of the chamber as the others stepped through mirror. The robins were singing in the garden, his footfalls echoing in the quiet keep. Nearly everyone who wasn’t noble had been mobilized for the campaign in the Wilds. He strode to the rookery where he borrowed a bird, quill and parchment from the keepers there.

 

A moment later, the raven fluttered off, squawking in the dark, a shadow that vanished into the dark moonless sky. Cullen watched it go and then leaned on the parapet of the rookery, looking out over Skyhold. He was safe here, but this was the most unfair thing in the world for everyone else out there. Was she alright? Were they all? What if Corpheus turned his forces around in retaliation? Leliana and Josephine and Rylen and… Evelyn… if she was… He slammed his fist on the stone. He was helpless.

 

+++++

The following morning, Cullen was still at the rookery. He sat at Leliana’s table, his fingers fondling a glass of West Hills Brandy, the bottle open beside him. His wound had been closed by Solas, but Cullen wasn’t even paying the dull throbbing pain any mind. Evelyn’s cat pawed at his hand. The beast had sought him out the night before, much to Cullen’s surprise. He was just as surprised to discover that the cat was still wearing that little fur shawl. Eve made clothes for her cat. Half of Nyanquisitor’s wardrobe looked like the things Cullen wore. It was… embarrassing and adorable at the same time. The cat needed a new name. His fingers ran over the sea green tile she had given him at the temple. Blessed Andraste… If she…

 

He drained his cup to drown the thought. His cheeks were red, his scowl never leaving his face. The cat mewled, rolling on the table, its little claws catching his glove. Cullen scratched the cat’s belly. He couldn’t rest until he knew the others were alright in the Wilds. He heard footsteps coming up from below. Cullen did not look up. He knew those heavy footfalls. “Hello, Cassandra,” he said, his voice dead.

 

“It smells like a brewery in here,” she said. “With bird shit.”

 

“Yes.” He refilled his cup.

 

She sat down opposite him at the table. Nyanquisitor rolled over and regarded her with serious blue eyes. “Want some?” he asked, gesturing with the cup.

 

She took the cup and set it aside. “I think you’ve had enough,” she said sternly.

 

“I’m not even drunk, Cass,” he said, reaching for the cup.

 

“Get up and follow me.”

 

“Later. I have to wait for the news.”

 

“What good is it to sit here and stare into the distance? It won’t make the crow fly faster. Follow me to the stock. They will send word the moment it arrives, I can assure you.”

 

She stood up and headed to the stairs. Cullen did not move. She was right, but he… He had to--

 

“Cullen!” her voice snapped, cutting through his thoughts.

 

He set his jaw and stood up. She was right. Maybe hitting things would help. He picked up Nyanquisitor and set the cat on his shoulder, where it settled in his furs. Then he followed Cassandra down to the stocks. The keep was unnaturally quiet now, Cullen was not used to it. Cassandra walked up to the rack of wooden weapons and drew two blunt swords. Cullen took off his furs and draped it over one ot the training dummies. He set the cat on the dummy’s head, where it curled up.

 

Cassandra tossed him a sword. Cullen caught it by the handle. She handed him a shield and took one for herself. Cassandra took up her form, a stance for attack that Cullen recognized. He braced his shield, his wound aching dully as he moved. Cassandra attacked, her strike hard and fast and powerful. Cullen blocked her feint with her shield and parried her sword strike with his shield. His shield was ringing from the impact. She was serious. His eyes narrowed. Good.

 

He poured himself into the fight. Their dull swords striking shields, their feet rustling in the grass in the quiet keep. Cassandra was quick and powerful, but Cullen could see where her swings were sometimes wild. He took advantage of that, with calculated cool, attacking with both sword and shield. He feinted with his sword, her shield coming to block the strike. His shield hooked hers instead, opening her defence. She just barely parried the blow that would have hit her side. Cullen stepped back, sword across his shoulder aggressively as they circled each other.

 

Cassandra was not one to wait. She retaliated with a jab that barely missed his side, his shield locking the blade only for him to duck quickly when her shield slashed out at his head. He jumped back, she pressed the attack. He feinted right and cut from the left, under his shield. Cassandra deflected the blow with her shield. Cullen’s shield blocked her counter from the right, but he was too close to her already. He elbowed her back in the chest and winced heavily as she staggered back. She laughed at him. “What possessed you to do that?” she grinned. “You know I’m wearing a chestplate.”

 

“It was either that or head-butting you in the nose,” Cullen shook the quivering from his sword arm.

 

“Don’t give me that rubbish,” she shouldered her sword, her shield before her, defensive and aggressive at once. “I’m a decade older than you, can’t draw blood from an old woman?”

 

“Really?” Cullen raised his sword and shield, the tip of his dull blade aimed at her.

 

“If you’re not going to make me bleed,” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll get the blood flowing.”

 

Her attack was swift, Cullen could see the dirt from her feet during her rapid charge. He parried the stab with his shield, but she pressed in almost recklessly, her elbow coming at his face. Cullen staggered back, his nose a flower of pain. He shook his head and glared at her. Then spat out the blood in his mouth. Then he charged. The next attack was countered, her shield coming at his neck. Cullen deflected it with his pauldron, ducking the metal that sailed by his face. He twisted in her guard and kicked out at her, sending her staggering back. She rolled on the ground and sprang to her feet like a cat, her face scuffed with dirt. Nyanquisitor mewled. Cullen felt his blood boiling, his heart hammering in his ears. He pressed the charge and the battle raged on.

 

As much as they kicked and parried and struck each other’s shields and swords, Cullen knew he was evenly matched. In close quarters, Cassandra was deadly with her dragon-hunting training, but Cullen knew a thing or two about grappling, about fighting with all parts of his armour - pauldrons, shield, pommel. They were both trained as templars, and the blood they drew would never be anything serious. The sun rose higher in the sky, Cullen and Cassandra were sweating profusely in their armour, panting in the heat. His wound was burning with pain, his side probably badly bruised, and his knee was twinging from where she had kicked him. At least his nose stopped bleeding. She was also worse for wear - her face scraped with dirt, her eye swelling. Cullen knew he got her one in the elbow as well, he could see her sword arm shaking slightly. Nyanquisitor had long since wandered away to find better entertainment than the two of them.

 

“Are you feeling better?” she asked him, her sword raised as they circled.

 

Cullen set his jaw. “A little,” he admitted. Then he paused. “A lot.”

 

She smirked at him. “Still, I’m not bleeding.”

 

“I really don’t want to make you bleed. What would Hawke say?”

 

“I told you--”

 

“Inquisitor!” Cullen turned. A keeper from the rookery was running towards him. Cullen dropped the sword and shield in the grass. The keeper handed him a sealed rolled parchment. Cullen broke the seal as the man left. Cassandra joined him. “Corypheus fled the field,” Cassandra read. “Samson in custody. Forces mobilizing for return to Skyhold. Forward party to depart come morning.”

 

Cullen let out a quivering breath. Scratched below, by Rylen, were the words, “Commander: Head wound. Eye trouble. Angry. Blackwall: Sword wound. Conscious. Dorian: Sword wound. Swearing. Sera: Broken leg. Cracked skull. Won’t shut up...” The list of injuries went on. The only ones who were spared were those who fled through the mirror and those who stayed at the forward camp. His hands were shaking.

 

“I should never have run through the mirror,” he breathed, biting back the rage. “I should have stayed to fight!”

 

Cassandra took the parchment from him, snatching it from his fingers. “Do not!” she snapped firmly, stepping in front of him. “You cannot second guess your decisions in battle. We did what had to be done!”

 

“Fleeing Corypheus?” Cullen shouted.

 

“If we stayed, Corypheus would have taken you! He would have had the Well and the Anchor in one fell swoop. We can’t kill him yet!” She clapped her hand on his good shoulder. “The important thing is that they lived. No battle is without injury. No victory comes without cost!”

 

“Cost?” Cullen shouted. He blinked. Cost… the voices from the Well had promised him something, hadn’t they? His eyes narrowed. “Cassandra, gather the healers. Get the infirmary ready to receive the wounded. The guard here can be mobilized to man the infirmary.”

 

She smiled faintly at him. “And what will you do?”

 

“Wash off the blood and pray you haven’t broken my nose,” he said. “Then I need to talk to Lady Morrigan.”

 

Cullen cleaned off at a trough, and was glad that his nose, while swollen, wasn’t broken. He checked to see that his shoulder wound was still closed, and it was. No worse for wear, save the bruising across his face. Damn Cassandra, he would hate to have to face her with swords that weren’t blunted. Then, wiping his face with his handkerchief, he headed to the garden where he expected to find Lady Morrigan.

 

“Lady Morrigan!” he called. The garden was empty. Cullen found his eyes drawn to the chamber with the eluvian. His heart sank. The door was open. Cullen ran to the door and sure enough, because nothing was going right for him, the eluvian glowed blue within the chamber, benign, open.

 

He swore viciously. “Morrigan!” he shouted at the mirror. There was no reply. What was he expecting? For her to stick her head out and respond? He strode to the mirror, looking up at the glowing glass. What was she doing at the Crossroads? He braced and held his hand out to the glowing glass, stepping through. The same blue light glowed around him, the same distant creaking echoed in the air met his ears as he stepped through to the other side. Cullen opened his eyes and gasped.

 

This was not the Crossroads. Spires of rock twirled overhead in the green sky in their slow and graceful pirouette, rocks rose around him, statues twisted and gaping clawing from the faces of the stone. Cullen turned. The mirror was behind him, showing the way back to the chamber. “Maker preserve us!” he breathed, staring up at the sky. The eluvian opened to the Fade! He had a door to the Fade in Skyhold! “Andraste… this cannot be!”

 

A voice called in the distance then, lilting with fear and worry, the cry of a frightened mother. “Kieran!”

 

“Morrigan!” Cullen shouted, sweating, his body already covered with unknowable slime from the very air itself.

 

“Inquisitor!”

 

Cullen walked forward, biting back the fear - whatever this was, he would deal with it later. No time to be… feeling things. “Morrigan!” he called again. He followed the path, descending deeper into the Fade. Soon the path turned and the mirror was blocked from view beside him. It was fine. It was fine. He could open a rift, this wasn’t a complete disaster. “Morrigan!”

 

“Kieran!” her stricken voice called out. Cullen pushed past some wisps and ran down more stairs. Then he found her, standing in the middle of the path, her hands rubbing together, her face pale. She shook her head as he approached. “Why would he do this? _How_ could be do this?” she breathed.

 

“Who?”

 

“Kieran!” she replied.

 

“ _Kieran_ made the mirror open to the Fade?” Cullen exclaimed.

 

“Yes! To direct the mirror here would require immense power!”

 

“Is he a mage?” Cullen demanded.

 

“He is more than that,” Morrigan replied, her eyes lost and uncertain for the first time. “If he is lost to me after all I have sacrificed…”

 

“He’s here? In the Fade?”

 

“He must be! He is nowhere in the keep,” Morrigan hissed, her gloves hissing as she rubbed her hands together. “Whatever happens to him now, tis my doing! I set him on this path!”

 

“He can’t be far,” Cullen sighed. Andraste preserve him…

 

“The Fade is infinite!” Morrigan exclaimed. “He could literally be anywhere!”

 

“So we turn around and go home?” Cullen glared at him.

 

She bit her lip and tried to gather herself. “No,” she whispered. “Please help me look, Cullen. Just… a while longer.”

 

Cullen nodded. Just find the boy. He hoped the child had not wandered off too far. “Do you know where he ran off to?” he asked, trying to ignore the creaking overhead.

 

“No, when I saw the chamber door ajar and the mirror lit, I knew.” Her eyes were everywhere as she spoke, turning her neck, craning to catch sight of her son.

 

“What makes you think he could have opened it?”

 

“Because the key to this mirror is blood, Cullen.”

 

“You used blood magic.” Why was everything she did suddenly sounding like a phenomenally bad idea?

 

“My blood. It is magic. By definition it is blood magic, yes. You forget that I am not under sanction of the Chantry.” She looked around for Keiran.

 

“So Keiran knows this blood magic?”

 

“No, but people of my blood can open the mirror--” She froze then as they rounded the bend. Cullen saw Keiran, standing before the strangest woman he had ever seen in his life. Her silver hair bound back like the horns of a dragon, her pauldrons decorated with black feathers that shimmered green in the Fade. Her face… it was old, but bore traces of what must have once been immense beauty. She knelt before Keiran, the boy holding his hand out to her, palm facing her. Something was passing between them, something blue and powerful… something that felt... ancient.

 

The boy looked up as they approached, Morrigan running forward. “Mother!” he piped happily, the blue light vanishing.

 

Morrigan stilled as Cullen joined her. The woman before Keiran was standing, regarding them with an amused, mocking smile. Morrigan gasped, then her eyes narrowed. “Mother,” she said.

 

“What?” Cullen blinked, glancing at Morrigan then the woman. “That’s your mother?”

 

“Now isn’t this a surprise?” the woman spoke, her voice throaty, resonant, a voice that pulled every ear to it and stirred the soul.

 

“You took her son?” Cullen asked.

 

“Took? Nonsense! He just came to see his grandmother,” she put a fond hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Good sense often skips a generation, it seems.”

 

“Kieran is _not_ your grandson!” Morrigan snapped. “Let him go!”

 

The woman gasped. “As if I was holding the boy hostage!” she mocked, then she smiled at Keiran. “She’s always been ungrateful, you see.”

 

“Ungrateful?” Morrigan snarled. “I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone! You will not have Keiran and you will not have me!”

 

Cullen felt Morrigan gathering her magic, her arms glowing.

 

The woman sighed wearily. “Be a good lad and restrain her,” she said wearily as she gestured to Cullen.

 

Cullen felt his muscles seize, his body moving without his control, without thought, despite his very will to stop himself. He strode towards Morrigan, grabbing her around the waist. “What are you doing?” she snarled at him, but he was dragging her back, firmly but gently. “What are you doing?!”

 

He felt the compulsion slip from his body. “I don’t know!” he shouted, shaking his head. “What did you do to me--” He turned to the woman and reached for his sword, but his hand froze. He stared down at his hand. He did not want to hurt her. His hand fell to his side. He did not want to, even if he did. He couldn’t. His eyes widened in horror as the pieces fell into place in his mind. He slowly turned to her, the weight of this realization made his knees weak.

 

“Yes,” the woman smiled at him. “You are a clever one. I’m beginning to be pleased twas you who drank from the well.”

 

Morrigan gasped, her eyes growing wide. She seemed to have come to the same conclusion as he. “You… are Mythal…”

 

“That’s impossible,” he croaked.

 

“Impossible,” the woman chuckled. “Already so certain of what is possible and what is not at your age? Ask the voices then.”

 

Cullen stared at her, the whispers coming unbidden. “Asha’Bellanar... he hissed their words out loud.

 

She smirked at him as if he were a clever pupil. “I am known by many names,” she chuckled. “Asha’Bellanar, the Witch of the Wilds… But you, Cullen, may call me Flemeth.” Then she pat Kieran’s back. The boy ran to Morrigan and threw his arms around her. Morrigan embraced him fiercely. “I’m sorry, mother,” Kieran said. “I heard her calling to me. She said now is the time.”

 

He let go of her and stepped away, leaving Morrigan more perplexed than ever. “I do not understand,” Morrigan whimpered.

 

Kieran stood by Flemeth, who placed her arm around his shoulders almost lovingly. “Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being. She granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.”

 

“Yes,” Cullen croaked.

 

Morrigan turned to him. “You understand this?” Morrigan exclaimed.

 

Cullen met her gaze, his own eyes filled with frightened puzzlement. “Yes,” he replied.

 

“So Mythal is inside you?” Morrigan asked Flemeth.

 

“She is a part of me. No more separate than your heart from your chest.” Flemeth chuckled and looked at Cullen. “As your clever Inquisitor can tell, I do speak the truth.” Cullen nodded dully. Flemeth was not lying. Everything she said was true. He could hear it in the whispers, feel it in his bones. “But, what was Mythal?” Flemeth went on. “A legend given name and called a God? Or something more?”

 

Morrigan turned to Cullen expectantly. He stared at Flemeth as the whispers sounded in his mind, and shook his head. “I can’t feel it, she’s… the voices won’t tell me.”

 

“Truth is not the end, but a beginning,” Flemeth said, walking up to Cullen, who wanted to back away, feared her in his very soul - he was so far beyond the Maker’s help now. Flemeth reached out with her clawed gauntlet and took his chin, turning his head to look at him as he stood bound. “So broken a vessel, so tainted and poisoned, and yet you fill each crack within you now with light and gold,” she breathed, her voice making his quiver.

 

He didn’t understand her now, the voices were silent. “Why you?” he asked. “Why did she come to you?”

 

Flemeth turned his face to hers, her yellow eyes boring into him, like the eyes of a dragon, burning, cold, fierce all at the same time. “For a reckoning,” she whispered, “That will shake the very heavens.”

 

Cullen stared at her. She meant it, every word.

 

“So now you do her whim?” Morrigan snapped. Flemeth smiled faintly at him and let him go. Cullen sagged, his body his own again. “Do you even know what she is?”

 

Flemeth chuckled as she walked back to Kieran. “You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end? It is because I taught you, girl. Because things happened that were never meant to happen!” Flemeth turned then, her eyes flashing. “She was betrayed as I was betrayed - as the world was betrayed! Mythal crawled and clawed her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged!” Her voice echoed in the Fade like thunderous fire. Then Flemeth sighed. “Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance.”

 

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “So must I serve you now?” he asked, his voice tight.

 

Flemeth laughed. “Is that how you see yourself? A servant?” she asked. “You drank from the well of your own volition, no one forced the magic upon you this time.”

 

His hands balled into fists. “I--”

 

“You trusted no one,” Flemeth smiled. “The only right hands are your hands. You offered yourself up as sacrifice - let the Well end me, at least its power is not loose upon the world.” She laughed then. “And yet, you find yourself uncertain.” She tilted her head. “Do you fear me?”

 

He grit his teeth as he met her gaze. “Yes,” he snarled. There was no lie, even if he wanted to.

 

“An answer far wiser than your years,’ Flemeth purred. “Do not fret, Cullen. I have no Commands for you. Not yet.”

 

“Then what it is you want!” Morrigan snapped.

 

Flemeth looked at Keiran. “One thing, and one thing only,” she said.

 

Keiran looked at his mother with innocent sorrow. “I have to go now, Mother,” he said.

 

“No,” Morrigan snarled. “I will not allow it!”

 

“He carries a piece of what once was, snatched from the jaws of darkness. You know this.”

 

“He is not your pawn, Mother! I will not let you use him!”

 

“Have you not used him? Was that not your purpose, the reason you agreed to his creation?”

 

“That was then! Now he… he is my son.” Morrigan turned to Cullen then. “Flemeth extends her life by possessing the bodies of her daughters, Inquisitor. That was the fate she intended for me. I thwarted her, and now she intends to have Keiran instead.”

 

“But why him?” Cullen asked. “He’s just a boy! Even if he is a mage.”

 

“I am not the only carrying the soul of a being long thought lost,” Flemeth said.

 

“He is more than that, Mother!”

 

“As am I, yet do you hear me complain? Our destinies are not so easily avoided, dear girl.”

 

“Mother,” Keiran said, his voice tiny. “I have to…”

 

“You do not belong to her, Keiran!” Morrigan cried. “Neither of us do!”

 

“If he’s so special, why did you wait until now to come for him?” Cullen asked.

 

Flemeth smiled. “I did not know where he was, Morrigan cleverly hid him from me… until now.”

 

Morrigan gasped then. “Twas the Well…”

 

So she knew everything that he did!

 

Flemeth started to laugh. “Be thankful you did not drink. Imagine! Bound to your dear mother for eternity!”

 

“This is nothing to laugh about!” Cullen snapped, anger flaring in his voice. “You have my - my soul!”

 

“If you want to call it that,” Flemeth laughed. “But tis not your soul that interests me. Your soul is far more useful to me where it is.”

 

“So now you’re going to steal the body of a young boy?”

 

Flemeth smirked. “If my daughter believes it, then it must be so.”

 

Morrigan sank to her knees, her heart in her eyes as she looked at her son. “Keiran… I--”

 

Flemeth glanced at Keiran then and smiled. “As you wish,” she said as Morrigan rose. “Hear my proposal, dear girl. Let me take the lad and you are free of me forever. I will never interfere with or harm you again. Or, keep the lad with you and you will never be safe from me. I will have my due.”

 

“He returns with me!”

 

“Decided so quickly?”

 

“Do whatever you wish, take over my body now, if you must, but Keiran will be free of your clutches! I am many things, but I will not be the mother you were to me.”

 

And there it was, Cullen felt the uncertainty trickling from Flemeth. She turned to Keiran then and took the boy’s hands in hers. The blue light sprang forth from their touch and something… something passed from the boy into her. Keiran turned his eyes to his grandmother. “No more dreams?” he asked.

 

“No more dreams.”

 

Keiran smiled and ran to his mother. Morrigan swept him up in her arms, kissing him, holding him protectively. “A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan,” Flemeth said then. “You were never in any danger from me.” Flemeth cast Cullen a glance and stilled the words in his throat. _We will speak more anon,_ her voice reverberated in his mind. He hissed, holding his head, his temple beginning to throb painfully.

 

Flemeth turned from them and walked away. Morrigan watched her go. “Wait!” she cried then. But Flemeth did not turn. She simply vanished into the Fade.

 

Cullen felt himself sag, his body and mind fully his own now. “M-maker,” he said in dull horror. “This is… We have to get out of here.”

 

Morrigan bit her lip and turned with Keiran in her arms. Together, they made their way back to the mirror, Cullen’s sword drawn just in case. When they emerged from the eluvian, Morrigan put Keiran down. Then she turned to the mirror and sealed it. The boy then ran out into the garden. “I am surprised,” she said then.

 

“As am I - by many things,” he said, sheathing his sword, the filth of the Fade clinging to his body. “What specifically are you surprised about?”

 

“That you did not ask her about Corypheus.”

 

“I wanted to. She told me that would be… discussed later, I hope she does not take too long.”

 

“Then we are waiting for Flemeth’s pleasure once again,” she looked up at him. “She is right about one thing. I am thankful that I did not drink from the well.”

 

“I’m happy for you,” Cullen growled. He held his hand out, palm up. “Give me the key to this chamber. I will keep it locked and post guards.”

 

“What?” she exclaimed in indignation. “The eluvian belongs to--”

 

“ _Sul’ema mala,_ Morrigan!” he snapped, then tried fervently to hide the surprise from his face as the words spilled from his lips without thought.

 

Morrigan, however, did not hide her surprise. She stared at him and wordlessly put the key in his hand.

 

“Thank you,” he said, closing his hand over it. He locked the chamber behind them and left her staring after him. Once the guards were posted by the door to the eluvian, Cullen changed out of his filthy leathers and armour, and then, donned in a simple tunic and breeches, strode through the empty main hall in search of Solas.

 

He found the elf in his rotunda, once again working on his paintings. “Solas,” he said, striding in. He then stated his problem in the plainest way possible, “Solas. _Ar dirtha tel’eolasa_ !” _I speak words I do not understand._

 

Solas looked up from his work, his expression dark. “Of course you do. I warned you not to drink from the well!” he snapped, setting down his brushes.

 

“It had to be done!” Cullen retorted.

 

“You gave yourself into the service of an ancient elven god!”

 

“I know! I met her!” Cullen stopped, realizing he was yelling.

 

“You what?” Solas rasped.

 

Cullen ran his hand over his face. “I met her, Solas. Mythal. I know exactly what I’ve done now.”

 

“So she has claimed you at last. You have given up a part of yourself!”

 

“I had to,” he sighed. “If this power were to be… I trust no one’s hands but my own. I thought you didn’t even believe in the ancient elven gods!”

 

“I don’t believe they were gods, but-but I believe they existed! Something must have to start the legends! If not gods, then mages, or spirits or… something we’ve never seen.” Solas’s eyes met his. “And you are bound to one of them now!”

 

“Yes.” Cullen looked at Solas. “I am. To Mythal. She has a sick sense of humour.”

 

Solas’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose it is better than you have the power than Corypheus. Which leads to the next logical question. What will you do with the power of the well once Corypheus is dead?”

 

Cullen stared at him. He wasn’t expecting all these questions. “I will write.”

 

Solas seemed taken aback. “Write?”

 

“The damn well keeps talking to me, I might as well write down what it’s saying,” he said. “And Abelas, everything he protected for eons I now carry. The world should know the truth. Should it? Andraste, I don’t know!”

 

“You think the world ready to accept your truth?”

 

“I don’t know!” Cullen replied. “All I know is that it… should be saved. I’ll let the smarter people argue over which history is correct, we need something for historians to do.” The whispering was beginning in the back of his mind, slowly growing louder.  

 

“And you really they would believe that what you say? That human history is wrong, that elven history written by a human--”

 

“Shut up!” Cullen snapped. He blinked at Solas, who glared at him affronted. “Not you, I was talking to the well-- Maker, forget I said anything!” He rubbed the back of his neck. “With regards to this power, I don’t know what I’ll do with it, Solas. Not yet. I do know I can trust Cassandra, or Eve. If I become compromised and the power begins to be dangerous, they will take steps.”

 

Solas shook his head slightly.  “You seek to resist temptation by sharing your power. A noble sentiment, but ultimately a mistake.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because while one selfless man walks away from the lure of power’s corruption, no group ever has ever done so.”

 

“I think I can trust my friends, can I not?”

 

“I know that mistake so well I could carve her face from memory.”

 

Cullen frowned. He had never seen the elf so vehement before, not even with Cole’s change. “Why is this so important to you, Solas?”

 

“You have not been what I expected, Inquisitor,” Solas admitted then. “You have... impressed me. You must not let your modesty force you to pass your power to someone else. There are few regrets sharper than watching fools squander what you sacrificed to achieve.”

 

Cullen stared at him, those words sinking in, sharp and clear. He understood, particularly in light of the Templars’ folly.

 

Solas sighed. “Forgive my melancholy,” he said. “Corypheus has cost us much. The Temple of Mythal did not deserve such a fate.”

 

“I agree,” Cullen said. “That is why I need your help.”

 

“And how may I assist you, Inquisitor?”

 

“By helping me to understand this thing in my head,” Cullen said. “I can speak elvish!”

 

“So I noticed. It is likely an effect caused by the will of the dead priests you now carry.”

 

“I need you to help me understand what else I can do, I need to control this. Not just for the words and stories that’s constantly being blabbed at me, but because I know things. Things I never knew was out there to know, if that makes sense.”

 

Solas touched his chin, looking at Cullen thoughtfully. “Come,” he said, striding to his desk in the middle of the room. Solas took out a book and opened it to Cullen. Elvish letters covered the pages in flowing lines. The well started to whisper again. Cullen let it talk. He stared at the letters, and the words bloomed in his mind. Solas was watching him. “Indulge my curiosity, if you would. What do the words say?” Solas asked.

 

“It’s talking about the eluvians, and how they were closed before Tevinter even came. The eluvians were sealed off to prevent enemy attacks, but not what enemy, that is unknown. This is wisdom that could have been made useful to me yesterday,” he added sourly. Cullen caught Solas staring at him. “Is… am I right?”

 

“Did the well tell you that?” Solas asked.

 

“No,” Cullen frowned worriedly. “I read it.”

 

“You translated it?”

 

“Was I supposed to answer in elvish?”

 

“Can you?”

 

“ _Eluvian dianem ama elvhen eth, esh’an ehn harel easya dala_ , and so on,” Cullen read a line and looked at Solas. “Correct?” he asked uncertainly. He knew he was right. He hoped he wasn’t.

 

Solas shut the book. “Correct.” He put the book in Cullen’s hand. “Begin with this. Your accent is atrocious. You stress on the wrong parts. Elven cadence is not like Kings Tongue.”

 

“No one will even know,” Cullen said, holding the book. “What do I do with this?”

 

“Read it, Inquisitor,” Solas said simply. “Read and plumb the depths of your understanding. Come to me when something confounds you.”

 

Cullen sighed. “That should not take long.”

 

It did take long. It took several days. And Cullen was always annoyed when he approached Solas. It seemed as if elves told one story several different ways. Cullen was irritated by this lack of consistency and would argue about it for hours with Solas, who only smiled, seeming pleased to have discourse. When Cullen wasn’t delving into elven history, he was training with Cassandra, or neck-deep in reports coming in from the Wilds. Most of the army had already mobilized, but it would take two weeks or more for the bulk of the forces to cross the mountains. The forward force moved faster. Evie and everyone else was coming home.

 

Cullen was in her office one morning, a week after he had stepped through the mirror from the Crossroads. He was making sure that things were at least cleaned up since Evelyn’s outburst over Ser Laurent’s death. She had destroyed her sofa, so he had one brought in from some noble’s room. No one would mind. He looked out of the embrasure windows and saw his friends crossing the bridge to the gates. Evie was riding a horse, next to Bull and Cole. Her head was bound with bandages. Thank the Maker the boy had escaped injury. Cullen rushed down to the lower courtyard. Cassandra was already there, the infirmary buzzing with activity to receive the wounded. Healing mages had come from Kinloch Hold, Cullen wasn’t sure how she arranged that, and he wasn’t going to question it.

 

“Is everything ready?” Cullen asked her.

 

“Of course,” she replied, standing next to him.

 

Evelyn was almost at the gates. Her eyes were open. What did Rylen mean by ‘eye trouble?’ Behind them was a large cart drawn by a sturdy horse, driven by Krem. The Chargers brought up the rear. He strode towards them. “Thank the Maker you’re all alive,” he breathed, taking Evelyn’s reigns.

 

“We all made it, Boss,” Bull grinned at him as he dismounted. “Some of us are more upright than others. The wounded are in the cart.”

 

“Bring it in,” Cassandra said, waving Krem’s cart in. Krem drove the cart into the courtyard, where the healers and mages began to unload the injured.

 

Cullen reached up to Evelyn’s waist and lifted her off her horse. “Oh my,” she blinked as she was set down on the grass. He held her face, looking into her eyes. She stared ahead, her ear cocked to him. “Hello Cullen,” she smiled. “You smell nice today.”

 

“Maker’s mercy,” he croaked and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her in a fervent embrace. No, he wasn’t going to cry. “I thought I lost you.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against him.

 

He pulled away, holding her face as he looked at her eyes. “Can you see?”

 

“No,” she replied, her eyes not on his face. Cullen’s heart sank. She reached out for his face. “We’ll talk about this later. I’m upright, just--”

 

“Stop trying to be brave. You’re making me look bad.” He took her hand.

 

She chuckled and winced.

 

“She broke the mirror,” Cole said, standing beside Evelyn. “She tried to stop Corypheus. He hit her. Then the Well saved her.”

 

“Cole is sweet,” Evelyn smiled. “I’m glad I can remember him now.”

 

Cullen smiled faintly. The Well saved her? “Cole, could you help her to a cot? We should get her head looked at.” Cole nodded and took Evelyn’s arm, leading her to the infirmary.

 

“Do your Chargers require healing?” Cullen asked Bull.

 

“No, we have a healer of our own. Been working overtime. We should settle in, though. Been a long campaign.”

 

“Please do.” Bull pat him on the shoulder. Cullen tried not to wince. Then the massive Qunari left him to see to his own men.

 

“I expect a raise, Cullen!” Dorian said as he was unloaded, cot and all from the cart. Cullen saw Dorian’s arm bound in a sling.

 

“I don’t even pay you, Dorian,” Cullen pointed out, relieved that Dorian’s humour had escaped unscathed at least.

 

“Fasta vas.”

 

Blackwall was in worse shape. The man was barely awake when his cot was set down. His armour had been removed, but his tunic was stained with blood despite the bandages wound around his side. “Blackwall,” Cullen said, kneeling by the man’s cot.

 

Blackwall blinked blearily. “I’m not Blackwall,” he breathed. “If I go to the Maker, I should have my real name.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Cullen seethed. “You are not dying, Blackwall. That’s an order!”

 

Blackwall chuckled gruffly. “Understood, Inquisitor.”

 

Cullen stood up, angry with the man. Stupid Blackwall. He was a good man. Cullen did not want to see him dead despite his past crimes.

 

“Get away from me!” Sera snapped. Cullen turned to see the mages drop her cot. Her leg was bound in a field splint. She still had her bow with her and was sitting up, holding it half drawn with an arrow. “I don’t need magic - touch me and I’ll have your guts for garters!”

 

Cullen walked over to her. “Sera--”

 

“Cully! Hi, yeah?” she piped up as he approached. “Right, now, that’s good enough - stand right there!” Then she rounded on him, pointing her bow straight up at his eye. Cullen froze as the silence spread around them, like poison in a cup of wine. “Now,” Sera said, her eyes narrowing. “About Mythal…”

 

Cullen scowled. “Sera, this is ridiculous!”

 

She glared at him and then slowly lowered her bow, much to the relief of those around them. “All right,” she said grudgingly. “So maybe it’s still you. Someone had to do _something_.”

 

“This is your idea of ‘something?”

 

“Well, you went wading into a ‘ _Well of Sorrows!_ ’ Who hears that and thinks, “Well, dunk a butt, let’s have a go!”

 

Cullen burst out laughing. “I should have brought you with me, Sera.”

 

“Yeah, no, yeah? The Temple was all full of lies. Even mad old Abelas said the elves destroyed themselves. Only believable thing in that sea of demon bait. It makes messing with their relics really stupid.” She put the bow away and grinned up at him. “So! Test done. You’re still you, and we can leave all the lies behind!”

 

Cullen chuckled and shook his head. “What was the arrow supposed to do?”

 

“Well,” Sera looked about awkwardly. “It’s to test for demons, yeah?”

 

“What? How?”

 

“I heard once that if you’re possessed, the demons will always defend itself from attack.” She paused. “Sounds stupid to say it out loud”

 

Cullen pointedly said nothing. “I don’t know!” Sera said, seeing his expression. “I don’t know demons. At least if your head twisted round and you turned purple or something, the arrow’s right there!”

 

“Right, that’s… not how it works at all,” Cullen said mildly.

 

Sera pouted slightly. “I’m sorry, yeah? Morrigan’s probably got better ways, but who can trust her?”

 

“Don’t worry, Sera,” Cullen smiled. He nodded to the healers. “Just bring her in and set the leg,” he said. “If she doesn’t want magic, she’ll just have to sit tight in Skyhold till she gets better.”

 

“Wot?”

 

“Yes, perhaps three months? The way you use your leg, you want it cured properly. No walking, no shooting, no climbing, no jumping. Sit in bed. For three months.”

 

“You wot? That’s a load of cock and bull! I’m not sitting around for three months, yeah?”

 

Cullen tilted his head. “Well, without magical healing, I don’t see how you have a choice.”

 

She glowered at him, scrunching her nose pugnaciously. “All the wobbly magic stuff is supposed to make my leg better?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’ll stick by me to make sure they don’t do anything else? Turn me into a frog or something?”

 

Cullen looked at her seriously, even as Evelyn started to laugh from her cot. “I will. I promise. First mage that tries to turn you into a frog gets a sword in the gut.”

 

She cast the mages a disgruntled glance. “Yeah, right fine then. I’m still keeping my bow and arrow.”

 

Cullen just smiled and nodded at the mages, who carefully carried her cot to an empty spot in the infirmary. “How did you get hurt, anyway?” Cullen asked her as he sat by her cot.

 

“One of those red templar bastards grabbed my leg.” The mages started to undo the bandages around her splint.

 

“But I thought that position was not under threat when I left.”

 

“Once Corypheus fled the field on that dragon of his, his forces turned around to retreat,” Dorian said, a mage kneeling by him, glowing hands held over his bandaged arm. “Unfortunately, they tried to withdraw following the river - which is where we were.”

 

Cullen braced himself. “How many men?”

 

“More than half of those we had with us.”

 

Cullen shook his head. “We did lose a lot of men,” Evelyn said from her cot, her bandages unwound by a healer who changed the poultice on her head. “Warden Amell and her Wardens are returning to the Wastes to Griffon Wing keep. The Champion’s taken it in his head to tail Corypheus. He will be sending us reports. Despite the losses, we can consider the campaign a victory.”

 

“And our men now?”

 

“They’re returning. Rylen is mobilising them. We’ve pulled out of the Wilds completely,” Evelyn reported. “There is no reason to maintain a military presence there, now that the temple is empty. Leliana, Josephine and Vivenne are coming ahead of the forces. They had to make sure the Empress and her lot were safely on their way to Orials. They have Samson with them - Leliana wanted to have a talk with him on the way back, I presume. I obliged. I take it you came through the mirror here at Skyhold?”

 

“We did. I do not like having that mirror here. I’ve locked it up. Corypheus may not be able to use it but Maker knows what else may come through.”

 

“Maybe something good may come through,” Evelyn said brightly.

 

“Morrigan says if I close my eyes and wish hard enough a fleet of griffons will appear under my command.”

 

Cassandra started to laugh. “See, that’s… probably not true,” Evelyn said. “But it would be fun!”

 

“Yes,” Cullen blushed slightly. “But that’s not the point.”

 

“Is he turning me into a frog?” Sera squeaked as the mage’s hands began to glow over her leg. The mage glanced at Cullen and tried not to smile.

 

“No,” Cullen replied. “They usually have to do a dance for the frog spell.”

 

“A dance?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“With chanting, I’ll bet.” Sera glowered at the mage, who remained tactfully silent.

 

“Chanting? Oh yes, if it’s a Thursday.”

 

“Cullen,” Cassandra chided, standing by the side of the tent as she watched the healers at work.

 

“You’ve not seen the frog spell dance? For shame, Seeker.”

 

Blackwall started to laugh but it turned into a wet cough.

 

“I’m very curious of the effects of this well, Cullen,” Dorian said. “You carry the remnants of elven history.”

 

“Just get better soon,” Cullen said. “Then I’ll let you and Solas and Madame de Fer poke and prod all you like.”

 

“Is that an invitation?” Dorian purred.

 

“Dorian,” Evelyn said warningly.

 

“She will poke you with her sword if you say more,” Cole supplied as he sat on the foot of her cot while her head wound was being dressed.

 

“Cole is an absolutely delightful boy!” Evelyn laughed, staring ahead. “I don’t need to threaten people, he does it for me!”

 

“Did I help?”

 

“Oh, very much so!” She reached out uncertainly and pat Cole on the head on the third try.

 

“What happened to her eyes?” Cullen asked the healer attending to Evelyn.

 

“The blow to her head might have bruised her brain,” the healer replied. “Her vision should be restored in time, Maker willing.”

 

“I’m fine!” Evelyn scoffed. “It’s just a bump and I’m still a little bleary.”

 

Cullen said nothing. He shut his eyes and let the whispers come. _Is this true,_ he sounded in his mind. _Will she get her sight back?_

 

“ _Vin_ ,” they chorused. _Yes._

 

_And Blackwall, will he recover?_

 

“ _Vin…_ ”

 

Cullen sagged in relief. “ _Ma serannas,_ ” he whispered to himself. The voices were good for something.

 

++++

 

Evelyn stayed with Cullen in his quarters. He had insisted. He wasn’t going to have her walking around her room with that hole in the floor. She slept beside him, her arm protectively around him. She couldn’t see. He wanted to scold her. He really did. She needed to stop… stop what? protecting him? He knew she never would. He stared at her as she slept beside him on his bed, her head wound still wrapped in bandages, until sleep claimed him.

 

His dreams were troubled. Dreams of darkspawn, of burning blighted blood hot on his skin as he cut them down around him. Surrounded, no escape, a fire blazing in the hearth of a massive tower looking like a fallen star. His sword was heavy in his fatigued hand, covered in black blood. He turned and the world changed - dusty orange skies above, the smell of smoke in the distance, far off screams, dust choking his mouth as the darkspawn closed in around him. Then above, the beating of wings. Massive wings. He saw the dragon land on a group of darkspawn. He dropped his sword and backed away, the beast ripping the darkspawn apart.

 

The dragon changed. Cullen saw every shift, every thread of mana wound around it in the transformation, the intricate pattern of the form change laid bare. Then she was there. Flemeth. Mythal. She turned to him, her yellow eyes reaching into his soul.

 

He gasped awake. Silver moonlight spilled around him as he stood in the grove, the shadows of the trees inky black on the shimmering grass. There was a breeze that cooled his skin, carrying the smell of night. Cullen gasped as he came to his senses, turning around. He was in his loose tunic and breeches, his feet were bare and dirty. Had he walked here? He had to be dreaming!

 

The grove was surrounded by the ruins of towering walls, now overgrown. At the end of the grove, against a wall, something loomed, shaded in the shadows of the trees that embraced it. He walked up to it, climbing the stairs of the dias that held the figure that towered over him. It was a statue, rising twice as tall as a man. The statue was a woman, who had no arms, she reared up with the wings of a dragon instead. “Mythal?” he whispered.

 

Unlike the ones he had seen in the temple, which wore draconic masks, this one did not. Half of her face was veiled with vines that glinted silver in the moonlight, only her lips and chin were visible under the vines. Cullen frowned, reaching up slowly, taking the vines in hand. Was this Mythal’s face? Curiosity would kill him one day. He began to lift the vines from the statue’s face. A nose, a cheekbone, one eye gazing out at the world.

 

A shadow passed overhead with the screech that shook his bones. Cullen dropped the vines and turned to look at the sky. He hopped off the dias and ran from under the trees to look up. Something blotted out the light of the moon, the air blasting to the ground, whipping his loose tunic around his body. Cullen shielded his eyes with his arm. The dragon landed on the ruins of a wall, perched there, scales scattering the moonlight like sword blades, its huge wings flapped, the gusts bending the grass back like a gale. “Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed, staring up at it.

 

The dragon turned one yellow eye to him, the slit narrowing as it caught sight of him. He backed away. The dragon snarled, a noise like a bubbling iron works in its chest reverberated through the air. Then it lay one clawed foot on the grass, and another, its head low as it stepped silently onto the ground. Cullen stared in amazement. How much muscle did it need to flit through the air like a swallow, to walk as silent as a fox? It was a damn great lizard! Was this magic?

 

It took a step forward, nonchalantly, then another, then Cullen saw the change happen. Mana pulled in delicate threads and patterns, clawed feet to arms and legs, wings shrinking into the skin, scales receding to studded armour, but the face was still… draconic. Out of the smoke, she walked. Flemeth.

 

Cullen stared at her and let out an explosive breath. He hadn’t realized he was holding it the whole time. At the sight of her, everything made sense. “You brought me here!” he snapped.

 

“I?” she asked in amusement, sauntering through the grass. “As if you were a pawn to be picked up as I pleased.”

 

“Am I not?” Cullen demanded.

 

“Really, dear boy, you should have a better opinion of yourself,” Flemeth laughed in amusement.

 

Cullen stared at her, so many questions swelling up in him. She stopped and smiled. “How curious,” she said warmly. “A man who stops to think.”

 

“One should, when talking to a dragon,” he grated.

 

“I am but an old woman now. Far from being a dragon. Your hands could close around my neck in an instant.”

 

“You don’t have to look like a dragon to be a dragon,” Cullen growled. Could he even kill her?

 

She laughed again, apparently delighted. “Wise indeed, Cullen. And far more entertaining a vessel than my dear daughter would have ever been.”

 

“Did you bring me out here just to laugh at me?” he snapped, unable to help but feel insulted by the flippant way she took this whole… thing. “What do you want from me?”

 

“I? Tis not what I want from you, dear boy,” she purred, her eyes narrowing. “The more important question would be, what do you want from me?”

 

“Everything.”

 

He did not realize he said it out until she began to laugh. “Everything! That is a tall order. Would you like the moon? Or the stars? Or socks for your cold little toes, perhaps?” she chuckled.

 

Cullen stared at her. Whether she was a dragon or an elven legend or an immortal being, she was starting to sound like a batty old woman who talked too much. He wasn’t sure which was right. He hesitated.

 

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’ll pass on the socks, moon and stars, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Such excellent manners.”

 

“You are in a strange humour today, Lady Flemeth,” he noted. “Is this usual?”

 

“Well, I hardly ever come across so dry a humour as yours. Not even your Hero, or Champion have given me such entertainment, yet here you are.” Her voice changed then, losing its carefree lilt as he eyes narrowed upon him. Cullen felt naked in her gaze. “Clinging to the pieces of yourself, you fight on, hurtled into the darkness. You yearn for the sky even as you dread the fall. And still… you leap. A herald indeed, shouting to the heavens. A harbinger of a new age.”

 

He swallowed. “I don’t know anything about that, I only do my duty,” he said.

 

“As do we all.” She smiled coldly. “Few know where the veiled hand of destiny leads us. The world stands on the precipice of change, fearing the storm that is to come. But you… you have weathered many storms already. Tis the trees that bend in the wind that survive, is it not?”

 

He stared at her, feeling more lost by the minute. “What are you?” he breathed.

 

“A good start. What am I indeed? A dragon? Mythal? A batty old woman who talks too much? Which do you think is true?”

 

He blushed when she plucked the words from his head. “I don’t know what to think,” he replied honestly.

 

“A statement that shows more wisdom than it implies,” she smiled. “What I am is not important. You drank from the well find out how to defeat about Corypheus, yes? But suddenly, there are more questions that seem of greater importance than that. And so I give you this, Cullen. Here and now, one night to ask anything you wish of me. I give my word that I will answer truthfully and thoroughly. Of course, one should be wary of the questions one poses. Not understanding should be the least of your fears.”

 

“Any question?”

 

She smiled and Cullen felt the chills run down his spine with the cold way she looked at him. She neither threatened nor comforted. She just was - a reflection of whatever you brought with you. And Cullen brought fear.

 

“You heard what I said, dear boy.” She gestured to the dias. Cullen followed her, suddenly not sure what to ask. He picked a question at the forefront of his mind. “Morrigan… were you truly seeking to take over her body?”

 

Flemeth sighed. “That Morrigan, she fancies such tales, you know? Stories of ancient dark magics and dancing under the moon,” she chuckled as she sat down on the dias. Cullen hesitated, then stiffly sat next to her. “Why take over the body of another when I have a serviceable one of my own? I sought to bestow a gift upon her, which she has sadly denied. But that time is long past.”

 

Cullen stared ahead and took a deep breath. Duty first, curiosity later. “Corypheus. Is he really immortal?”

 

“What do the whispers tell you?”

 

“They tell me that he is not. They tell me that he is mortal, but that’s not what I’ve seen.”

 

“And what have you seen?”

 

“I’ve seen him rise from the dead!”

 

“Ah, then are you asking the right question?”

 

He stopped and blinked. “Then how _does_ he rise from the dead--” He froze as the well whispered to him. The answer bloomed in his mind. “Oh, Maker,” he stared ahead.

 

“Indeed. There is your answer clear as day. As simple as pie.”

 

“It really isn’t! Just kill his dragon? That thing destroyed Haven!”

 

“You are a resourceful boy,” she smiled at him. “What would be able to destroy a dragon?”

 

He clasped his hands on his knees in thought. What would kill a dragon? Another dragon. Damn. Not helpful. The problem with that plan is that you still end up with dragon. Where would he get a dragon anyway? A dragon summoned when he wanted it, dismissed when he was done… a temporary dragon.

 

His frown deepened. A temporary dragon was possible… If she would listen to the stupid lug of a templar trying to teach her magic.

 

Flemeth seemed to be listening to his thought. She burst out laughing. “I wish you luck with that plan, Cullen,” she leaned back on her hands. “If I know my daughter, you are going to need it.”

 

Cullen sighed in frustration. “Unless you know of a way for me to summon my own dragon.”

 

“Your plan will suffice and it would be so much more entertaining than any I could devise. She always wanted to be a dragon. A word of advice: Let the well do the talking. You understand what I mean.”

 

Cullen nodded. He did understand, as soon as the words left her lips. “Now that you have your way forward, perhaps another question?”

 

He drew a breath. “Do you think that plan would work?”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Why do you answer questions with questions?” he asked in exasperation.

 

She sighed. Cullen felt like he’d failed a test. “If all the pieces are in place, there should be no way to fail. But that is your challenge - making it work.”

 

“It is,” he agreed with a sigh.

 

He ran his hands over his knees, he frowned as he vocalised his thoughts. “You are not Mythal, neither are you Flemeth. And yet, you are both of them. They are one but separate. You’ve lived all these years from the time before Tevinter waged war on the elves? For vengeance?”

 

She smiled at him.

 

“What form will your vengeance take?”

 

“It will be a reckoning that will shake the very heavens,” she said seriously. “As I’ve mentioned before…”

 

“Those who wronged you are still out there?”

 

“Oh, yes.”

 

“What happens to the rest of us?”

 

“That would depend.”

 

“On?”

 

“On whether you yet live. Know this, mine is not the only fury that blazes through the dark of history. So many voices stilled before their time, so many dreams crushed beneath the heel of the powerful. What of they?”

 

“That is why we fight,” Cullen said. “To help people.”

 

“And you know exactly what help people require, do you? Truly, beware those who seek to right wrongs no matter the cost. They will tear the world asunder faster than any selfish man ever could, for no man was ever free of the poison of pride.”

 

Cullen frowned, confused. The frustration must have shown on his face, for she said, “Do not be troubled that you cannot yet see. All will be clear in time.”

 

“When it’s too late?”

 

“It is never too late, Cullen. Never too late.”

 

He prayed that she was right. “What happens to me now?” he asked. “Now that I am your… I don’t even know what I am.”

 

“Now? Now you go about your merry way,” she smiled. “You know the path laid at your feet. All that remains is that you walk it.”

 

“But all this knowledge,” he said urgently. “The well tells me many things - I know things I didn’t before. Elven words and stories and lore. They tell me… about you. About Mythal, about your children and your deeds, about… Titans, about the war among the First.”

 

“Such a quick study,” she chuckled.

 

“People need to stop assuming I’m stupid,” Cullen shook his head in exasperation. “But these things that the well tells me _cannot_ be true!”

 

“Can they not? And why is that?”

 

“Because… where is the Maker? The well will not speak of Him.”

 

Her smile was pleased. “That, I do not know.”

 

“He _is_ real, isn’t he?” Cullen demanded. “Or is this knowledge… one sided? The elves don’t believe in the Maker. Logically, that would mean they wouldn’t… know about Him? Remember Him?”

 

“If it is logical, then it must be so.”

 

Cullen gripped his head. “Andraste preserve me,” he hissed.

 

“Do you regret drinking from the well?”

 

He glared at her. “I do not. I would rather this remain in my apparently stupid head than let loose in the wrong hands.”

 

She chuckled at that. “And thus you must sleep in the bed you make. What you do with this knowledge is up to you. Do you pin it to the page like a butterfly to a corkboard, glittering and dead for all the world to see? Or perhaps you rise with it, change the world as you know it needs to be changed? Or do both? Or nothing?” She laughed. “You try to discern the tapestry from the point of view of a thread, looking ever for your weaver, failing to see the truth all the while.” She stood up then, her form a dark silhouette against the moonlight.

 

“What truth?” Cullen demanded.

 

She turned to him, yellow eyes seeming to glow in the shadows of her weathered face. “That there is no weaver.”

 

He frowned, feeling more distressed by this news than he anticipated. “That cannot be,” he croaked, standing as well. Her reptilian smile widened.

 

“You’ll see,” she said, almost comfortingly, reaching out to him. Her fingers touched his shoulder and the whispers overwhelmed him, darkness closing in around him as he felt his eyelids droop in sudden fatigue. “You’ll see…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flemeth and Cullen are like that annoying smug teacher and that grumpy student.


	42. Inquisition Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed! Deal.

“You!” 

 

Cullen hissed awake, startled. A pair of flashing dark eyes looked down at him. “Where have you been?” Josephine demanded. 

 

He blinked and straightened up. “What?” he breathed and looked around. He was in the main hall, which was still empty and dark in the light of dusk. Josephine was leaning over him, her face furious as she grasped both handles of his throne. He had been sleeping on it. “What am I doing here?” 

 

“You tell me!” Josephine flared. She straightened up then, her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “You vanish for two days and then we find you here? Sleeping on the throne? Where have you been?”

 

Cullen’s brain caught up with her words. “I have not been gone for two days!”  

 

The door to the undercroft opened and Leliana stepped in, her gray hood almost blending in with the shadows of the hall. “This is a surprise,” she said, her eyes hard as she looked at him. 

 

“What is going on?” Cullen demanded of her. 

 

“Besides half the keep being out searching for you? The Commander awoke to find you gone two days ago. The Seeker has taken Varric, Bull and Lady Vivienne to search for you. The Commander has sent out search parties as well.”

 

Cullen stared at her. The grove. It wasn’t a dream, he knew. He was still donned in his tunic and breeches, his feet still bare and dirty. But… two days? “Flemeth!” he growled. 

 

Leliana’s eyes widened slightly. “Flemeth?”

 

“She took me!” Cullen snapped and stood up. The muscles in his legs flared with pain. He  winced and held onto the throne handle for support, his legs weak. Had he been walking all that time? For two days? “Maker’s breath!” he snarled. 

 

“Morrigan’s mother?” Leliana asked. “Why would she take you?”

 

“You know of her?” 

 

“Solona fought her once, as a favour to Morrigan. I thought her dead. I shot her myself.” 

 

“She is very much alive!” Cullen grated. “And very much immortal! And also a right bitch when she wants to be.”

 

“How would Morrigan’s mother possibly abduct you?” Josephine said. Then she wrinkled her nose. 

 

“I know, I don’t smell too good,” he said. “I think she walked me somewhere and then walked me back.”

 

“I knew she was a powerful mage but--” Leliana said. 

 

“She can turn into a dragon,” Cullen said. “She is more than a mage. Please, get everybody back to Skyhold. Tell Cassandra the Well made me do it, or else she’ll kill me on sight. We’ll have a war council in an hour when I smell better - and bring Lady Morrigan.”

 

“And the Commander?”

 

“I’m going to talk to her first,” Cullen said. He walked off, limping as he moved, every step making his muscles ache and flare with pain. He stopped a passing servant and asked for a tub of hot water to be brought to his room. Then he made his way through the rotunda and across the bridge. Even though it was still dark, the light of the sun barely creeping over the mountains, Evelyn’s office windows were lit. Best to explain to her in private than be scolded in front of Josephine, Leliana and Morrigan. He opened the door to her office and froze, leaning on the doorframe. 

 

There were a dozen officers in her office, Evelyn seated at her desk with Rufus beside her. They stared at him in surprise. Cullen was suddenly keenly aware that he was barefoot and dressed in filthy clothes. Rufus bent and whispered something, Evelyn’s chair scraped across the stone floor. He couldn’t see her at all over her taller officers. “Dismissed!” she barked. The officers saluted her, then him, then made themselves scarce. She was in full armour, her head still bound with bandages. He saw her expression looking like thunder, her hand crushing a report even as she stood with her eyes looking into the middle distance, her ear cocked to him. He made the right choice to come to her first. 

 

“I can explain!” he said quickly. 

 

She threw the report hard onto the table where it bounced. “This had better be--” Evelyn snarled, then visibly stopped herself. Rufus picked up the thrown paper and straightened it as he stood far from Evelyn, holding a clipboard to his chest. 

 

Cullen hobbled in and shut the door behind him. Evelyn drew a deep breath. “Very well,” she hissed. “Explain. I’m fine. I’m calm.”

 

Cullen doubted that. He cleared his throat, then looked at Rufus. “Would you excuse us?” he asked. 

 

The boy glanced at Evelyn then saluted and nearly bolted out the door. There was a kid who knew her moods. But there was no bolting for Cullen. “The Well made me do it,” he said. Then instantly regretted the way it came out when he saw her expression darken further. “What I mean is--”

 

“Of all the imbecilic excuses--” she snarled. 

 

“I am being honest!” Cullen retorted. “I was walked from Skyhold in my sleep to Maker knows where, and then walked back!” 

 

“Did the Well move your legs too?” 

 

“Evelyn! Please! I’m trying to explain! Mythal was there!” 

 

“Now you’re telling me a dead goddess made you--”

 

“She’s not dead!” Cullen snapped. “Believe me, Eve, she’s very much alive! She wanted to talk to me so she marched me out and marched me back.”

 

She appeared to be thinking, her ear still cocked to him. “Mythal is no more. She’s supposed to be banished, isn’t she? If she’s even real.”

 

“She’s real. Whether or not she’s a goddess or not, I don’t know. She’s inside a woman now. Flemeth.”

 

“Am I supposed to know that name?”

 

He hesitated. “She’s Morrigan’s mother.”

 

“Morrigan’s  _ mother _ ? Oh, please!” 

 

“Why won’t you believe me?” Cullen exclaimed. 

 

She shook her head. “After scaring me half to death, this is the reason you give me?” 

 

“I am telling the truth! Just because you were scared you don’t have to take it out on me!” 

 

“You know what? You’re right! Why should I be scared? It’s not as if the last time you vanished, you were trying to kill yourself.” 

 

It stung that she brought that up. “And how do you think I felt when you smashed the mirror?” he flared.

 

“I was trying to save your life!” 

 

“I don’t want you to save my life, Evelyn!” Cullen realized he was shouting, and so was she.

 

“If you didn’t keep on getting into hopeless situations, maybe I wouldn’t have to!” 

 

“I get myself out of hopeless situations all the time, Commander! You see fit to throw your life away as a first resort!”

 

“Isn’t that my duty, Inquisitor? To keep your precious self alive?”

 

“Stop it!” 

 

“No!” 

 

The mark burst with light, roused by his anger. He shook it out. “I forbid you to die for me!” 

 

“I forbid you from leaving this Keep without informing me first!”

 

“I do not report to you!” 

 

“I don’t give a damn about that!”

 

“I am Inquisitor!” 

 

“Then Inquisitor somewhere else!” 

 

“Fine!” Cullen shouted, his voice echoing. “War Council in an hour!” He turned and slammed the door shut behind him. He grit his teeth, biting back his anger. Stupid Evelyn! Why wouldn’t she understand? Why didn’t she believe him? He heard the sound of breaking glass and clattering wood from within her office as she must have swept her table in her anger. He strode away from her door, paying the aches in his legs no mind.

 

+++++

 

The sun had already risen, lancing in through the windows of the War Room. His advisors sat around the table, staring at him once he had completed his strange tale of where he had been for the past two days. 

 

“That crone has meddled in our affairs for far too long,” Morrigan flared. 

 

“She’s really your mother?” Evelyn asked. 

 

“Unfortunately,” Morrigan sighed. 

 

Cullen saw the expression on Evelyn’s face shut down as she leaned back in her chair. Cullen tensed his jaw. Maybe now she believed him. It stung so deeply that she of all people questioned the truth of his words. 

 

“Then Lady Flemeth’s advice is to… kill the dragon?” Josephine asked. 

 

“Yes,” Cullen replied. “Not precisely her advice, but the dragon is the key to Corypheus’s immortality. He has kept a part of himself there - probably to emulate the Old Gods. No man is free from the poison of pride.”

 

“How very eloquent,” Morrigan noted mildly. “All that remains now is for you to kill his dragon. No small task, Inquisitor.”

 

“Unfortunately,” he sighed. “Once the dragon is dead, his ability to jump to bodies is disrupted. He can be killed.”

 

“If Corypheus is wise, he will hide and rebuild his forces,” Leliana said. 

 

Cullen looked down at the map. What would a man who thinks he is immortal do? “We have made him very angry,” Evelyn said, her ear cocked to the meeting. “Hey may try to attack us here. I’ll have the ballistae readied, but we still only have a small force.”

 

“You truly think he will attack us at Skyhold?” Josephine asked. 

 

“It does not hurt to be prepared,” Evelyn replied. “Either way, we’re sitting on our hands till Rylen and the bulk of our forces return. Or until Corypheus makes his move.”

 

“We still need to deal with the dragon,” Leliana said. 

 

“I have an idea,” Cullen said. He glanced at Morrigan. “I will need Lady Morrigan’s help with this. As for the rest of you, gather whatever information we have. Anything that will give us an edge or help us predict where Corypheus might strike next. And look to Skyhold’s defence.”

 

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

 

“Lady Morrigan, shall we adjourn to the gardens?”

 

She nodded and followed him as he stood, leaving his advisors around the War Table. They walked through the main hall into the gardens, illuminated by the morning sunlight. With most of their forces in the Arbor, the Gardens were empty. Good. Cullen wanted it that way. “Pray tell, what assistance you require of me, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said coolly as they walked among the robins that flitted from the trees, losing their leaves to winter’s grasp. “I must admit my curiosity is piqued. What assistance could I give that Mother could not?”

 

Cullen sighed heavily. Teaching Morrigan magic was not going to be easy - teaching magic was not going to be easy. Maker, him of all people… he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lady Morrigan, I need your help to defeat the dragon. You and only you can make this happen.”

 

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “And how exactly do you think I could best Corypheus’s dragon?”

 

“By becoming a dragon.”

 

She burst out laughing. “Were I able to become a dragon, I would have done so before, don’t you think? Twould have been most useful in the Wilds.”

 

They started to walk to the gazebo at the end of the garden. “Is it difficult to become something else?”

 

“Extremely,” she said. “Get one thing wrong and you end up deformed, or worse. Tis the reason why the Chantry forbade shapeshifting - out of fear of their own mage’s incompetence or ambition. Were the knowledge of how to become a dragon there for the taking, any fool would do it.”

 

“So, it’s complicated,” Cullen said. “The patterns of mana… if you get those wrong, even one thread…” 

 

They sat down on a bench as Morrigan looked at him curiously. “And did the well tell you that?”

 

“No,” he replied. “I saw Flemeth do it twice.”

 

“Mother?” she glared at him, her voice suddenly heated. “Mother can turn into a dragon?”

 

“I thought you knew,” he blinked. “Leliana said Sol went to help you kill Flemeth. She turned into a dragon.”

 

“No, I did not know!” Morrigan grated. “Clearly, the Hero of Ferelden has neglected to mention certain key elements of the battle! So now I presume you intend to have me summon Flemeth to your aid as a dragon?”

 

“No,” he replied. “I intend to have you come to my aid as a dragon.”

 

“It would take years of study to--”

 

“I can teach you.”

 

Her expression said it all. “ _ You? _ ” 

 

He tried not to get annoyed by her incredulous look. He sighed, “Me as in the Well, through me.”

 

“And how would you possible be able to teach me? You know nothing of using magic!”

 

“I don’t, but I can help you see the patterns. The mana patterns.”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Yes!” he rolled his eyes. 

 

She straightened up. “Very well,” she said, “this should be most interesting. Teach me. I am listening.”

 

He blushed suddenly and swore under his breath. “T-the Well doesn’t require words,” he looked away uncomfortably. 

 

“Does it not?”

 

“No, it-- it can show you. Or try to. Until you understand.”

 

“Can the Well not tell you the words for me to understand?”

 

He frowned. “It doesn’t work that way, Morrigan,” he said. “It has the knowledge, but I don’t have the words in Kings Tongue or Elvish to convey it. It’s also dangerous. If I say it wrong, the spell could be disastrous. So it’s safer to show you.”

 

“Curioser and curioser,” she smiled. “And the reason reason for your discomfort?”

 

“It’s… how I get it into your head.” His cheeks felt hot and he rubbed the back of his neck. He wished there were another way. “T-the Well will reach out through me. Then into you. So we have to... touch.”

 

“Ah…” Her smile turned amused. “Surely the Inquisitor isn’t bashful when it comes to touching women. Indeed, there are days when you and the Commander can barely stop.”

 

“We don’t--” He stopped himself and shook his head. “It will be a chaste touch!”

 

“I see, and yet you blush, Inquisitor? Does the thought of touching me affect you so?”

 

He looked heavenward in resignation and sighed. “Let’s just-- get it over with.” She waited expectantly. Cullen cleared his throat and as chastely as possible, reached out to hold her head, his fingers curling along her cheek and the back of her neck. Her eyes half lidded and suddenly, nothing was chaste any more. He took his hand away quickly, his heart hammering in his ears. Stupid! What was wrong with him?

 

“Something troubling you, Inquisitor?” she asked, her voice a purr as she leaned on one arm, looking at him in amusement over her arched shoulder. Cullen got the impression that she was doing this on purpose. 

 

“Could you, perhaps, um, maybe close your eyes?”

 

“Why?” she asked. “You are easy on the eyes, and tis not often I see your surly face blushing like a village girl.”

 

That did not decrease his blush. “Lady Morrigan!” he tried to sound authoritative. “Shut your eyes, if you please!”

 

She laughed in a way that reminded him strongly of her mother, but she did shut her eyes. He drew a deep breath and leaned close to her, holding the back of her neck as he put his forehead against hers. Maker! He shut his eyes and let the voices flow. They came, ebbing from the back of his mind, reaching out across his forehead. They seemed to tickle his skin, flowing to where their foreheads touched. He heard Morrigan gasp softly. Then she sighed. He felt her breath on his lips. 

 

His jaw tensed. There were more important things than the awkwardness of their situation. He had to help her see. Strange things were coming to his mind. The sound of a frog hopping into water, the giggles of a child, the tender smile of a mother. Then the images and sounds were gone. He winced, the voices speaking to him. “Stop pushing away,” he said to her. 

 

“They seek to intrude upon my mind, this is not showing!” 

 

“They have to!” he said, opening his eyes and seeing her hard yellow glare right in front of him.

 

“You said nothing of entering my mind,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“They are trying to find ways to help you see in a way you understand,” Cullen exclaimed. She pushed him away, but he held on to her, his other hand coming to hold her other cheek. She held his wrists to pull his hands away. “Don’t break the connection! It won’t be comfortable!”

 

“That, Inquisitor, is the most absurd thing in the world!”

 

“Morrigan, please! Just stop!” She stilled as he held her face in his hands. “This is-- this is how it has to be done. I need you to trust me.”

 

“Tis the Well I do not trust - now that I know who it comes from.”

 

“It’s coming through me, now. Whatever happens to you, will happen to me first. We need to do this to kill Corypheus.”

 

She glared at his blushing face. He glanced away. “This is not how I would have done this,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, it’s uncomfortable, but it’s necessary.”

 

Morrigan chuckled then. “We do look foolish.”

 

“Truly.” She was still eyeing him. She smelled… nice. He swallowed. “Shut your eyes. We’ll try again.”

 

She shut her eyes. Cullen closed his and let the voices flow forth. They reached out into her mind through his, whispering ebbing in his ear. The images came clearer now, sharper. Grass whipping about bare running feet, the sound of a horse’s carriage in the distance. Then the images started to fade. “Morrigan just relax,” he said, keeping his eyes shut as he held her face. “Let it happen.”

 

“This is not what I wanted,” she said but she did not pull away.

 

“It would… be more pleasant if you just open up.”

 

“At the risk of it scouring my most private of places?”

 

“You agreed to this. Stop fighting against it, just let it in.”

 

She sighed, her fingers closing tighter around his wrists, but the images did come once more, as clear as before. 

 

Cullen was unsure how long they were locked in that mental commune. He saw many things of Morrigan’s mind before all the visions turned into lines of blue light that he could not understand. Then the voices began to recede. She touched his chestplate lightly. “I weary,” she sighed. 

 

The tingling on Cullen’s forehead faded and the ebbing whispers faded away into silence. He let his hands drop from her head and their foreheads parted. Cullen rubbed his head, leaning back with a groan even as Morrigan held hers with both hands. His whole body ached from sitting for so long and his mind was exhausted.

 

“They speak so clearly,” she breathed. 

 

“Sometimes,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “You haven’t learned how to become a dragon yet, have you? No, they tell me you haven’t.”

 

“It is far more complicated than any shapeshifting spell I know,” she said, rubbing her temples. “The change in size alone…”

 

“Sol can become a bear. It’s bigger than she is.”

 

“Bears and humans are basically the same shape. The changes are not that deep. A spider is more complicated, but it is smaller than a man regardless. That makes up for it. But a dragon requires a vastly different form and a vastly different size. The musculature alone…”

 

He looked at her and straightened up. “We’ll have to do this again, I take it?” he said. 

 

“Indeed,” she said, lifting her head. “But for now, some dinner would be welcome.”

 

“Maker, it’s really that late,” he said, looking at the lengthening shadows on the ground. 

 

She stood up and glanced at him. She smiled then and reached out to his forehead as he tried not to flinch. She chuckled a low throaty laugh and pulled a strand of black hair off his forehead. “You were right, Inquisitor, our commune was... not unpleasant.”

 

The blush came like a traitorous tide from his chest to the roots of his hair. “Must you say it that way?” he asked as he stood up, straightening his shawl. She laughed even more at the sight of his blush. He glared at her. “Stop it.” 

 

He left Morrigan to her meal and stepped into the main hall, right into Cassandra coming the other way, still wearing her heavy armour and bearing her sword and shield. “Oh dear,” Varric said over his shoulder, setting Bianca down on his table.

 

“Hold on!” Cullen snapped as Cassandra drew a breath for what was no doubt an angry tirade, her dark eyes flashing. “It was Mythal! Alright? She took me for a damn long walk! But I know how to kill Corypheus.”

 

She looked at him, torn between anger and curiosity. “How?” she demanded. 

 

“We need to kill his dragon. Kill it and he can’t rise from the dead,” Cullen said. “So I’m sorry I vanished. Before you yell at me too, just know that it wasn’t my idea.”

 

“So Mythal can abduct you from Skyhold itself?” she asked. 

 

“She made my body walk,” he said. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I just woke up in a grove, we talked, then I woke up back at Skyhold. My legs are killing me.”

 

“We thought you…”

 

There was the worry in her eyes. They were all worried for him. “I know,” he said. “I know what you all thought. At least you believe me about Mythal.”

 

“Everything that happens to you is strange,” Cassandra said, crossing her arms. 

 

“That’s your fault. I was content with Commander. I never wanted a promotion.”

 

She smiled faintly. “That was not my doing. It was the will of the Maker. I don’t know what is real any more, but I must trust that you are guided by Him.”

 

He grit his jaw at the thought of the Maker, of how the voices seemed unaware of his true existence. “I hope so,” he said, glancing away. 

 

She pat him gruffly on the arm, smiling encouragingly. “Come, let’s have a meal at the Rest. We’ll call the Commander to join us.”

 

Cullen tensed. “No, I… I think I’ll dine alone. Have an early night.”

 

“Perhaps a guard by the door?” Cassandra suggested. 

 

“That would help. Tell him to wake me if I go sleepwalking again.”

 

“You sure you alright, Curly?” Varric asked. 

 

“Just fine,” Cullen forced a smile and headed to his quarters. 

 

+++++

 

The next few days brought a flurry of activities. With the Well, his activities seemed to grow more scholarly. Solas was helping him with his elvish and his history. Cullen had ruined one history book already with annotations scribbled all over, sometimes beside angry scribbles next to something particularly stupid. He was no scholar, and the arguments put forth by historians, particularly in view of what the Well told him, were utterly daft sometimes. It infuriated him. Where as a young Templar he would have dutifully memorised the histories as fact, now he was yelling at books. It was a bizarre change. If only Mia could see him now.

 

Josephine kept bringing him letters from Orlesian nobles who had supplied men to the field in the Wilds, all tactfully reminding him that he owed them a favour, which Cullen knew to be rubbish. Their allegiances were pledged to Celene, not him. He wanted to burn the letters until Josephine gave up and started bringing him letters of thanks to sign instead.

 

Then there was Morrigan. They sat in that strange meditation for hours in the garden and by the time the sun had set, she was no closer to becoming a dragon. Cullen hoped this was working. They didn’t have time! 

 

Samson was still in his cells, Leliana’s interrogation breaking him down, if there was anything left to break. Cullen knew truthfully that judging him would be difficult. In light of everything that was happening, he wasn’t ready to judge Samson. Not yet. Besides, Samson had wronged Evelyn, and Evelyn couldn’t yet see. He wanted her to see the man swing. When he went to the infirmary to check on Dorian and Blackwall, the healers assured him that her vision was slowly returning. But he hadn’t spoken to her yet. Sera had long since fled her bed the instant she could totter about.

 

Evelyn… Evelyn was avoiding him like the plague outside of the War Room. It had been four days since that stupid fight. He was annoyed that she did not come speak to him first and apologise for not believing him. Now he was just growing worried. He pondered this as he sat in his sleeping clothes in his quarters, his quill in his hand, the open history book on his desk. She was in the wrong, she should apologise, and yet Cullen knew this stand off between them to be utterly foolish. Four days was a long time to stew. They’d never argued before. 

 

He sighed. It was ridiculous. Come the morning, he would--

 

“Hey you!” 

 

Cullen turned, startled. A head looked down at him from the lintel of his balcony door. Sera grinned at him upside down, her hair hanging messily from her head. “Maker!” he breathed. “What in Andraste’s name are you doing up there?”

 

“Nevermind that!” Sera piped. “You have time? It’s not a question, let’s go!” 

 

“Go where?” He stood up and walked to the balcony. Sera was looking down at him, perched on the edge of the roof. “Sera!” he exclaimed. “Your leg!”

 

“Aw, don’t worry, I’m fine, yeah?” Stuck out one leg over the edge of the roof precariously. Cullen nearly choked when she wobbled. 

 

“Maker! Get down before you fall!” he said. This was like Cole drunk all over again.

 

She laughed at that. “I’m not going to fall, Cully! I got something I want to do for you. Just come, you won’t need your gear and stuff.” Her head vanished over the edge of the roof.

 

Cullen stared. “Come where?”

 

“Up to the roof, ya silly tit!” her voice called down. 

 

“Sera, that’s really unnecessarily dange-”

 

“Stop sounding like a grandad and get up here!”

 

Cullen glared up at the roof. He shut one balcony door and carefully climbed the wooden vine-covered trellis against the wall. He tried not to look down. He wasn’t afraid of heights, he was afraid of falling off a precarious trellis because an elf with a mouth called him a ‘grandad.’ He gripped the side of the roof and climbed up onto it. “I do not sound like a grandad!” he protested as he crawled over to Sera, sitting with her legs crossed on the tiles with a small linen bag on her lap. “Andraste preserve me…” He sat next to her, acutely aware that he was on the highest roof in Skyhold. 

 

He looked out at the view. It was breathtaking. The mountains of the Frostbacks stretched out under the winter moon, all donned in veils of snow that glittered under the light. To the south, he could see the swirling scar of the Breach, glowing green. Then the wind blowed and Cullen shivered. “It’s freezing up here!”

 

She held out something to him, smiling sheepishly. He blinked and dusted his hands before taking it. “A cookie!” she said proudly. 

 

“I can see that,” Cullen said, looking at the rather underbaked and soft cookie, with raisins. Sera took another out of her bag. He bit into his and politely chewed. “We’re eating,” he said finally. “On a roof.”

 

“They’re horrible right?” she grinned as she chewed. “Ugh. And raisins! I friggin still hate cookies!”

 

Cullen stared at her. “You hate cookies?”

 

“Can’t stand the stuff.” She bit into it. 

 

“Huh,” he said and took another bite. “I didn’t expect that. So why are you eating them if you hate them?”

 

She looked ahead at the mountains. “Well… I got caught stealing when I was little, yeah? You get alienage or worse for that, but “Lady Emmald” took me in.” She bit the cookie. “She was sick and couldn’t have children. I had no parents. It worked out. Anyway she gets a year sicker so I ask her about cookies because moms make cookies. I can pass that down or something. Turns out she couldn’t cook. She missed that talk with her mum. The ones she “made” she bought and pretended.”

 

Sera looked at Cullen, who chewed on the moist cookie. “Aww, right?”

 

“I suppose,” Cullen said. 

 

“Well no, not “aww.” She was a bitch!” 

 

Cullen raised his eyebrow. Sera shook her head and continued, “She hid buying them by keeping me away from the baker. She did that by lying that he didn’t like me, didn’t like elves!” So many things became clear to Cullen about the precocious and unpredictable elf with that bit of information. “She let me hate so she could protect her pride!” Sera’s voice filled with fire. “I hated him so much! And I hated…”

 

“The fact that you were an elf,” Cullen finished. “What happened to you and the baker?”

 

“She hurt people. I made his life shit! And why not? It seemed like he deserved it! I mean, “If you don’t give a child cookies because of appearances, then you’re a monster!” And then I… thought there was something wrong with me. Stupid pride-whore noble.”

 

Sera turned away, but she couldn’t keep the sadness from her face. “Well, she died, and I hate pride. “Pride cookies.” She turned to him then, her bright smile back on her face as she waved her half-eaten cookie. “But this Inquisition thing is working out!” she beamed at him. “So I figured I could make some… “Inquisition Cookies?” Because then I could like them again and… ugh. I know. It’s stupid. That’s why I want to get rid of it. I want to make better cookies.”

 

Cullen smiled and finished the cookie, dusting his hands of the crumbs. “We should have Inquisition Cookies,” he said, his mouth full. 

 

“You think? Because it seemed frigging daft every step to me!”

 

“Why not? But these are terrible, though.”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “I know right? Ugh.” She tossed her cookie off the roof. 

 

“My sister sent me a recipe for cookies my mother used to make,” he said as he rested his arms on his knees. “I meant to give it to the kitchen so I could have some but I never got around to it. Would you like to make them?”

 

She looked at him and for a fleeting moment, Cullen saw her heart in her eyes, grateful and innocent. Cullen felt old. “Your mum’s real cookies?”

 

“Mia learned them from her when she was little. Yes, my mother’s cookies. Sybil Rutherford’s butter cookies.”

 

“Let’s make them!” 

 

Cullen looked out over the empty keep. He sighed and smiled. “Alright, I can’t believe I’m doing this, but yes, let’s make cookies. In the middle of the night. Maker help me.”

 

“Yeah!” she cried exuberant and hugged him, making his heart stop as he slipped from the tiles a little. Then she stood up and hopped off the roof. “Hurry up!”

 

Cullen caught his breath as he carefully climbed off the roof. “Next time,” he hissed as he stepped onto the safety of his balcony. “No roofs.”

 

She stood in his quarters, waiting expectantly. “Definitely. Smells like bird and dank.” She smiled at him then. “I don’t like learning lessons. Makes my stomach hurt. I’ll just throw this rubbish away--”

 

“Don’t, give them to Cole instead,” Cullen said, heading to his desk to look for Mia’s letter. “I think he feeds the robins.”

 

Cullen had never made cookies in his life, though he used to see his mother and sisters make them. Here he was, Inquisitor in his own Keep, hissing and whispering with Sera as they tried to find ingredients in the dark kitchen, fearing they would wake the cook, who had a temper. Cullen cringed at every single dirty joke she made, as they mixed up the cookie dough according to Mia’s instructions, but he couldn’t help but laugh. He put his foot down at what Sera called the “Up Yours” Inquisition Cookie shapes, however. Then, with the cookies in the oven, they set the hour glass and waited, sitting on a bench against the wall, their arms covered in flour up to the elbows. 

 

Sera kept talking, but as she waited, her eyes started to droop. She fell asleep with her head on Cullen’s shoulder. He looked at the complicated and unpredictable elf, and realized that there was a reason for the things she did, however strange they may seem. She sort of reminded him of Rosalie, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. Ah well. He settled back against the wall and waited for the sand to fall. 

 

He must have fallen asleep because he awoke to Sera’s movement as she sprang up from his shoulder. There was a faintly burnt smell in the air. Sera was in front of the oven, pulling out the cookies. “Oh no!” she cried as she set them down on the kitchen top. Cullen walked over and looked down at the distressingly dark cookies. “Does this look like Inquisition Cookies to you?”

 

“Burnt and manky?” he said. “Probably not.” Gingerly, he broke off a piece of a hot cookie and popped it into his mouth. He regretted instantly. He blew over the piece in his mouth before it burned his tongue badly. Why did he do such stupid things in the kitchen?

 

“You know what? she said. “We ought to put little nipples on these ones and called them Coryphytit Cookies.”

 

Cullen snorted as he swallowed. “I just ate a piece of Coryphytit.”

 

“Eurgh!” She made a face.

 

“Maker’s breath, Sera!”

 

She broke off a piece and tried it, blowing on it before she put it in her mouth. She had better sense than he did. She beamed up at him then. “They’re good.”

 

“They’re not terrible,” he said. “Though I think my mother is rolling in her grave right now. I’ve just butchered her cookies.”

 

Sera laughed. “Naw, you know what? These taste better than anything Lady Emmald ever gave me. These are our cookies! The next ones will be better! If we don’t fall asleep.”

 

Cullen grinned at her. “Exactly,” he said. “I look forward to trying them, though I may want to stay out of the kitchen.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right hopeless in here.”

 

“With cookies, probably. I’m no baker.”

 

She took a cookie and placed it in his hand. Cullen winced from the heat and blew on it. “Give this to Evie,” Sera said. “She can’t see that it’s all black and burnt. All she’s got is taste. She’ll love it.”

 

Cullen laughed weakly. Evelyn… He really should talk to her. “I hope she’ll like it.”

 

“Why not? They’re a bit like you.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Manky and crinkly on the outside but all tasty on the inside.” She sniggered then. “Tasty! D’you get it? Because-- you know…  _ tasty _ .”

 

Cullen snorted and groaned. “Yes, Sera, I get it. Maker’s breath…”

 

“Imagine if these were cream cookies, yeah? Then instead of tasty on the inside, you’d be cream-”

  
“Sera! Stop!”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmm creamy cullen cookies...


	43. Dragons and Wicked Grace

In his breeches and tunic, his forearms washed of the flour, Cullen brought the cookie to Eve’s office on the battlements. Enough was enough. It was time they were adult about this. In the pre-dawn light, he tapped on the door to her office. The murmur of voices within ceased. Cullen entered. She waved aside her captains. Cullen looked at her as the captains walked past him, acknowledging their salutes with nods. Then he stepped into her office. Her bandages were fresh, a lock of hair sticking out from under the bandages catching at her lip. Cullen remembered that the sight of that was what oddly drew him to her.

 

“Inquisitor,” she greeted politely. She was dressed in her tunic and breeches as well, a red sash tied around her waist a little untidily.

 

“Not in armour?” he asked.

 

“I was going to get dressed - just settling the captains first.” She blinked at the side of him, squinting her eyes.

 

“You can see?” he asked, his heart swelling.

 

“It’s getting better,” she said. “I see lights. You’re a big blob of shapes in my eyes now.” She crossed her arms. “How may I help you, Inquisitor?”

 

“We need to talk, Eve.”

 

“Oh? Do we?” she asked.

 

Cullen began to foresee an unhappy ending to this meeting.

 

“We do,” he said firmly. “I hope we can deal with this as mature, rational grown ups.”

 

She sniffed. “As mature as Morrigan?”

 

He blinked in puzzlement. “What?”

 

“Just let it happen? Scour my most private places?” she asked.

 

“What?” Cullen’s eyes widened.

 

“The servants heard you, Cullen. You’ve been sitting in the garden with your heads together for hours. Holding each other.”

 

“We weren’t holding each other!” Cullen exclaimed, but stopped himself. He wasn’t here to fight more. “So what do you think I’m doing then?” he asked. “Cheating on you?”

 

She tensed and bit her lip. After a moment, she lowered her head. “I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. “I’m just… I don’t know.” She set her hand on her hip and ran the other over her face. “Cullen, I have work to do. I… whatever you do is your affair, I just--”

 

“I’m not cheating on you,” he snapped, feeling the bitterness rise.

 

“I never said you were.”

 

“Do you think I would lie to you, Evelyn? About Morrigan? About the Well walking me in my sleep?”

 

She was silent, her eyes squinting in the middle distance.

 

He went to her behind the desk and turned her firmly but gently to face him. She did not look up at him. “Tell me honestly, do you think I would lie?”

 

She drew a breath. “No,” she admitted, her voice small.

 

“Then why didn’t you believe me then?”

 

She sighed heavily. “I was angry, alright?”

 

“At what? Me?”

 

“Yes!” She stopped. “No! I was angry at everyone! At myself!” she snapped. “You vanished from bed right next to me and I didn’t even--”

 

“That’s not your fault, Eve!” He frowned. “Stop taking responsibility for everything that happens to me.!”

 

“I can’t, Cullen,” she shook her head.

 

“Evelyn, you couldn’t have stopped that if you tried,” Cullen said. “Sometimes we work to affect an outcome. Other times, it’s just… beyond our control.”

 

“I refuse to accept that,” she breathed. “If something happens to you and I know I could have done something, I can’t… I just can’t!”

 

“You can’t keep doing this, Eve. You can’t keep saving me.”

 

“I won’t ever stop!” she said hotly. “I will not let what happened to Laurent happen to you! So I don’t care if you don’t appreciate it, Cullen! I will break a thousand mirrors and face a thousand Nightmares, I will stand before Corypheus and storm the Black City itself, if I have to! I will _not_ let you fall!”

 

He was silenced by the passion ringing in her voice. She was panting as she stood before him. Then she turned away. “Not even to yourself,” she murmured and leaned her hands on the desk. “I would die a thousand times over before I let you. Maker help me.” She drew a breath and let it out slowly.

 

“I’m sorry,” she went on. “I was just… scared. I-I haven’t changed one bit from Haven.”

 

He touched her arm, feeling her quiver. “What were you afraid of?” he asked. He reached up and pulled the lock of hair from her lip. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine”

 

She shut her eyes. “Lots of things. It’s ridiculous, don’t concern yourself.”

 

He moved her, sitting on the edge of the desk. He put the cookie down on her desk top and held her hands in his. Their faces were closer from this height. He rubbed the back of her hands with his thumbs. “What things?” he asked gently.

 

She seemed smaller then, a fleeting look of disgust crossing her face. “I’m scared of… Of Corypheus,” she said. “Of writing letters to the families of soldiers who died. Of dead babies crying in the night. Of staying blind forever. Of dying to the fits. Of your head in a box on my table. And then nothing will matter anymore.” She was shaking, her hands squeezing his. She shut her eyes, and snarled, pulling away. “Maker! I sound like a mewling quim!”

 

He caught her hands in his again. “Why?” he asked fervently, pulling her back. “So I die. You will grieve, but you will move on. You will still be able to be happy. You--”

 

“Stop it!” she snapped. “This isn’t about you dying! Not… really.”

 

He stared at her. Her eyes flashed. “It’s about… it’s about blackness. I’ve seen a lot of people die. I couldn’t save them all. They were good people, but… small. No one cared for them. It’s not fair. And you, you were one of them. But now, you are more than that. You fight for them. But instead of bending to suit the world, you shape the world around you instead, because you see the good even after everything you’ve been through. It’s like you have this… dream that there is always good to be found somewhere. And you’re the only one paying the price to find it for all of us. The Maker asks too much of you. You should be happy. You should live.” She touched his face. “Otherwise, it’s not fair. And there is no Maker. There is only a black world.”

 

She looked away from him, her cheeks mottled as her hand fell from his face. “That’s what I’m afraid of. That it’s all black. I don’t know what I would do...”

 

He lowered his eyes, her words washing over him. He bit his lip. “Eve,” he said, his voice thick. He kissed her knuckle. “I don’t understand… Why do you think so much of me?”

 

She smiled faintly, putting her hand over his. “Because you still ask that question,” she said gently. He sighed heavily and reached up to pull her closer, nuzzling his forehead against hers, their hands clasped. He didn’t understand at all. He couldn’t see what she saw, all these things she was saying about him seemed like she was talking about someone else…

 

“When you broke the mirror…” he said then, trying to keep his voice steady. “Andraste, I have never been more terrified in my life. I was so close to you. You were just beyond the glass. Corypheus was right behind you but I could do nothing. You were all alone.” He held her hands in his. “I can’t bear the thought that you traded your life for mine. I wanted to go back, I wanted to fight him. The well said I would have died, but I didn’t care.” He sighed heavily. “Corypheus scares me, the mark scares me, the voices and what they tell me terrifies me. I used to have nightmares of the Circle, of Kirkwall. Now I have new ones.”

 

He opened his eyes, his gaze meeting hers. He held her face as she looked at him, squinting slightly. “But you can’t save me all the time, Evelyn. Maybe… Maybe I just need you with me, while you help me save myself. This isn’t a my life or yours situation, it shouldn’t be. I trust you, I trust that you work yourself to the bone doing everything you can for the Inquisition… for me. You must trust that I am going to do everything I can to come home, for the Inquisition. For you. And if either of us are… called to the Maker’s side, we have to believe that the we both did our best, and it’s not our fault.”

 

She bit her lip. “That’s a lot of faith you ask for.”

 

“Maker, sometimes, it’s all we have.” He sighed. “We can do it, though, can’t we? You and I?”

 

She smiled slightly, her eyes moist. “I think so,” she murmured. She kissed him lightly. “That was eloquently said, Cullen.”

 

He snorted, feeling the mood lift. “Right, well, I have my moments,” he said and kissed her deeper, his hand holding the back of her neck as she reached up to hold his head. He would have to ponder her words properly later, but for now, it was delightful just to kiss her again. They broke the kiss, Cullen’s smile matching hers as they looked at each other. “Do you want a cookie?” he asked then.

 

She blinked at him. “A what?” she asked evenly.

 

“A cookie.” He held it up. “Sera and I made it. It was - it’s a long story. She said you might like one. Apparently, it’s manky on the outside and tasty on the inside. She said it would remind you of me.”

 

She stared at him with her squint and started to laugh, head thrown back, hand over her lips. “Accurate,” she said.

 

“I know, I said it was nonsen-- what do you mean, accurate?”

 

She took the cookie and set it aside on a pile of books. “Can I taste the actual cookie?” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

 

“But you just put it on the-- Oh.” She kissed him deeply, her fingers entwining in his messy hair. He missed the taste of her. Their fight was… was stupid. If only they had just been honest. Her hand wrapping over his shoulders as he leaned one hand on the desk to support himself. Something knock against his fingers and shattered to the floor. Cullen looked down at his feet, a puddle of ink spreading from a broken ornate glass inkwell. “Blast,” he muttered and looked at her a little guiltily.

 

But she reached around him and swept her arm over her table top, knocking all the papers, bottles and maps to the floor without a care. She then looked up at him expectantly. “You were saying?” she asked.

 

He chuckled, smirking as he wrapped one arm around her waist and moved her onto his lap, sitting fully on the desk. She willingly straddled him, running her hands over his body as he grasped her bottom through her breeches. Her kiss pushed him back down onto his elbows on the tabletop and she climbed onto him. Cullen was very happily reminded of the night they grappled through her fits. He wanted to make her feel good, he decided as she leaned over him in the kiss, her hair smelling arousingly of… lavender. Maker, when had she made that change, and why hadn’t he noti--

 

The door opened and dawn light spilled into the office. “Good morning, Com--” Evelyn gasped and straightened up, squinting at the silhouette at the door. Cullen froze. Rufus stood there, staring at them, holding his clipboard to his chest. Cullen’s blush bloomed to the roots of his hair as he waited for the boy to shut the door. Go away, go away, go away!

 

Rufus didn’t, he just stared. Then a deep red blush began to creep across his face. “...mander,” he murmured, his eyes widening as he gaped at them.

 

Evelyn smiled slightly as she squinted at the light. “Are you waiting for an invitation, Rufus?” she asked.

 

“Get out!” Cullen barked before the boy could answer.

 

Rufus yelped, startled out of his reverie. He tried to salute with both hands, dropped the clipboard, picked it up and shut the door behind him.

 

“Hold all meetings till after lunch!” Evelyn shouted after him.

 

“Yes, Commander!” he squeaked from outside.

 

Cullen glared up at her. “Were you serious?” he demanded.

 

“I was being sarcastic,” she smiled and leaned down to kiss him again, her hands slipping under his tunic.

 

“Probably misplaced,” he said against her lips as he lay back and pulled her fully onto him, his ears delighting in the sound of her throaty laugh.

 

+++++

 

War Council meetings were usually at eleven in the morning. By the time Cullen was done… repeatedly making up with Evelyn, he was already late. He rushed to clean himself and pull on his armour. Then he hurried down to the War Room from his chambers, extremely sated, slightly bruised in certain places, scratched all across his back, and also extremely late. He opened the door to the War Room at a half-run. Sure enough, Josephine, Leliana and Morrigan were seated there. As was Cassandra, surprisingly. “Forgive me,” he said, feeling genuinely guilty that he had kept them waiting. “I was... delayed. I was doing-- doing stuff.”

 

Evelyn stepped in behind him, donned in her white armour. “Hello everyone. I’m stuff,” she grinned.

 

“Andraste’s blood!” Cullen exclaimed as she walked past him through the door to laughter ringing from the others. “Evelyn!”

 

“Oh, fine,” Evelyn said primly as they sat down at their seats around the War Table. “The Inquisitor and I were having a meeting, everyone. We apologise for our tardiness. We were a little carried away by the fervour of our discussion. We’ll be more mindful in future.”

 

Cullen sat down and shuffled his papers in front of him, blushing to the roots of his air. He couldn’t lean back because his back was stinging like blazes.

 

“We should put that down in our minutes of meeting,” Josephine grinned at him.

 

“Do _not_ put that down in the minutes!” Cullen croaked.

 

“Tis good to see that certain… tensions have been sufficiently eased,” Morrigan smiled at him impishly.

 

“I’m sure they were,” Leliana beamed at Evelyn. “Would the Commander like another cushion to sit on?”

 

Cullen glanced at Evelyn, who was indeed shifting a back cushion to the seat of her chair. Evelyn grinned at Leliana as she settled back down. “Oh, no, I think one is fine. This is a plush chair,” Eve said, lacing her fingers on the table demurely.

 

“I think the Inquisitor’s discussion was rather pointed,” Cassandra smiled wickedly. “He must have been very determined to hammer his points home.”

 

“Oh, he took every effort,” Evelyn replied with that wide-eyed innocent stare, made more vapid by her lack of sight. “He had to make sure that I came to the same conclusion.”

 

“Sweet blood of Andraste and all that is holy!” Cullen exclaimed, the papers scrunched in his hands, his face the colour of a beetroot. He looked at all of them, keenly aware that he was the only man present there. “Do _all_ women talk like this?”

 

“Actually, the Commander is already being very subtle,” Leliana grinned.

 

“Is she?”

 

“Oh yes, you should hear her when we’re sewing.”

 

“Evelyn!” Cullen glared at her grinning face. “What have you been-- No, you know what? Maker preserve me, I do not want to know. If we could begin the meeting, that would be wonderful - none of that goes into the minutes!”

 

Josephine giggled behind her clipboard and got the meeting underway. It began with updates, as she frequently did. That took a while. Samson was not revealing anything more about Corypheus, but Dagna was already studying his armour. The army was marching home, unharried by Corypheus’s forces who were scattered into the Wilds, with no general and no leader. “It seems almost too good to be true,” Cullen said wrily as his advisors completed their report. “What of you?” he asked Cassandra, who was sitting back in her chair, her arms crossed. “It’s nice to see you here, Seeker but, why are you here?”

 

“Lady Cassandra has a proposal to make,” Josephine said.

 

“You want to kill Corypheus’s dragon?” Cassandra asked bluntly.

 

“We have to,” Cullen replied.

 

“Do you know how to kill a dragon?”

 

Cullen glanced at Morrigan. “With another dragon?”

 

“Oh for pity’s sake,” Morrigan rolled her eyes.

 

“That would be good,” Cassandra went on, not looking at Morrigan. “If we had a dragon with us. We do not know how long it will be until Lady Morrigan learns the spell she needs. We must have a contingency plan should Corypheus attack before that time.”

 

“I’m listening,” Cullen said seriously. “What plan do you propose?”

 

“That you learn how to kill a dragon, of course.”

 

Cullen stared at her. “You’re offering to train me to kill a dragon?” he asked her. He shut his eyes a moment, letting the voices flow. “Corypheus’s dragon is a high dragon, or it was. It’s now something else entirely. It’s even more powerful than a high dragon now.”

 

“I recall Solona killing the high dragon at Haven,” Leliana said. “Do you remember, Morrigan?”

 

“Oh yes. The beast stank like rotten eggs. Twas an exhilarating battle.”

 

“And when Alistair jumped up onto its head to stab into its jugular,” Leliana sighed wistfully. “Those were such wonderful times.” She laughed. “On hindsight, of course. While facing the dragon, we did not find much to laugh about.”

 

“That’s… amazing,” Evelyn breathed. “You really killed it?”

 

“Yes, Commander,” Morrigan smiled in amusement. “We really killed it. Though Leliana has killed more dragons than I - now that I hear Mother herself turned into one. Then there was the archdemon...”

 

“But the one who killed the most would be Cassandra!” Evelyn said, her eyes wide. “At the Ten Year Gathering… I head there were twelve dragons!”

 

“Four,” Cassandra said modestly. “But even one is enough.”

 

“Four?” Cullen exclaimed. “At the same time?”

 

“Technically, there were four dragons and one high dragon,” Cassandra sighed. “It was a long time ago. I am not as young as I was, but I do know ways to kill dragons that may prove useful.”

 

“You killed five dragons at the same time?” Evelyn asked. “And one of them a high dragon?” Her eyes glittered. “And there were demons too, I’ve read the stories!”

 

“One demon,” Cassandra smiled slightly. “I did not kill him, not really. The high dragon battled it and they both died.”

 

Cullen stared at Cassandra, his eyes wide. He knew she was a legend, but to hear her speak of it, with no pride… She caught him looking at her. “It was a difficult battle, we had the support of mages, and the Maker’s blessing on our side. I did not do it alone,” she said firmly. “Bear that in mind. I was not alone, though history chooses to forget the mages who helped. Even the Hero of Ferelden was aided by mages at the top of Fort Drakon. The only one who seems to have killed a dragon without support is Hawke and his motley crew - though I suspect the Maker was making a special point to watch over them. For us, we must be ready to deal with Corypheus with whatever resources we have at hand. We cannot depend on an entire Circle to come to our aid in time. So we will need to learn how to take a dragon down with only the elite of the Inquisition. That is far harder. But strategies can be devised and practiced.”

 

“Practiced?” Cullen asked. “How do you mean?”

 

“There have been reports from all over the south of Thedas that dragons are ravaging the land,” Josephine said. “Even one in the Hinterlands. If we could kill it…”

 

“Twould not be hard, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said. “Even that fool Alistair managed to survive. Surely he is no less combustible than you.”

 

“You are suggesting that we devise a dragon-killing strategy, then find a dragon and practice that strategy,” Cullen asked Cassandra.

 

“Yes.”

 

Cullen frowned as he turned the idea over in his mind. After what the dragon did to Haven, Cullen had written off direct confrontation as suicide. He was hoping for Morrigan to be able to defeat it, and yet, he couldn’t deny that they did need a contingency plan, should things go awry. “Maker preserve us,” he sighed at last. “You are right, Cassandra. I think your proposed course of action is a wise one.”

 

“So you’re going ahead with this?” Evelyn asked.

 

Cullen glanced at her. “Yes, it appears we must.”

 

She bit her lip. “Understood,” she nodded. “We have few troops to send to support you, but we can ensure your camp is supplied and staffed with healers. And messenger birds?”

 

“The fastest,” Leliana promised.

 

“And what of our meditation?” Morrigan asked. “We are so close - I can feel it.”

 

“We’ll work something out.”

 

++++

 

Evelyn sighed as the dispatch was read out to her by Rufus, her fingers steepled. Word from the Wilds was that the forces were delayed, bogged down by weather. She sighed heavily. “Maker,” she shook her head. “Rufus, send a notice out to Viscount Dugras. Ask him for permission to direct our soldiers to his lands for sanctuary from the weather. I’ll foot the bill. Mention my name.”

 

Nyanquisitor jumped onto her desk, donned in Evelyn’s favourite Cullen shawl. She smiled and stroked the cat, who was reaching that gangly stage of its life. Rufus made a note of her order. “Do you know this Viscount, Commander?” he asked curiously.

 

“He’s a cousin,” she replied. “So, that, plus the Inquisition owing him a favour should be able to sway him to let Rylen set up camp there. I don’t want him to be stuck in the mountains in the snow.” She picked up the cat and set it on her shoulder. “If there’s nothing else, take a break, Rufus. We’ll pick this up tomorrow at the morning meeting.” She opened the door to the rotunda.

 

Rufus saluted.

 

Evelyn shut the door behind her and sighed. Evening light spilled all around her, the sun setting over the walls of the keep, rearing lions stained gold in the light. Once she was alone, her smile faded as she stood at the door. Corypheus would make his move any time soon. The Inquisition’s morale was high now. Everyone in the keep had been to the cellars to see Cullen’s prize. Evelyn’s footsteps took her there now. Under the main hall, Evelyn walked down the stairs. The walls and doors were chiselled back to make way for the massive trophy. Better to have it cool and the walls damaged than have it rotting in the courtyard.

 

The entrance to the cellar was guarded by two soldiers. They saluted and let her pass. The cellar was full of dragon. The head was propped upright with stones, its horns curling back, glinting in the light of the torches that lined the walls. One eye was half shut, the other, a bloody mess. She looked down at its tongue, black and scaly, lolling out of its mouth. Her finger touched a tooth. It was shockingly sharp and serrated. Cullen was, of course, annoyed that the head was even in the keep. He had wanted to leave it in the Hinterlands. Bull had shaken him by the shoulders and questioned his sanity in very colourful terms, then insisted that the head be brought back.

 

And thank the Maker for the Qunari, for Bull had also insisted that Cullen’s sword be left where it was. The killing blow had been delivered with a sword to the dragon’s eye, buried so deep in its skull that only the tip of the handle was visible outside the rotting eyeball. Evelyn walked up to the sword, her fingers touching the pommel, the stench of dead lizard filling her nose. The pommel was bent and misshapen. She suspected she knew how the dragon was killed. For as highly as she thought of Cullen, even she knew that there was no way he could stab into a dragon’s skull on his own.

 

It had taken all of the inner circle to kill the dragon. She had been beside herself for days, despite the talk she had with Cullen. Trust that he would come back. He would do everything he could to come back. She had to believe it. It was so much harder since the mirror. She thought she would die, expected it, as Corypheus raced towards her in a cloud of darkness, his eyes blazing. Her sword was snapped in two, his hand around her neck as she was slammed back into the remnants of the mirror.

 

She had no idea what happened next, except waking and hearing raging waters in her ears, hearing screams of futile rage and curses to Dumat. There was a gale blowing, but she couldn’t see anything that was happening. She had been terrified, pain all over her body, her head aflame with agony as she lay there, hot blood on her head, pooling under her cheek. Then there was silence. She was alone. She was blind. She was injured and bleeding. She awaited what was to come, the storm of emotions offering her no comfort. Cullen was safe, that was the main thing. She had something good at the end of her life at least. This was a fitting death. But she raged against the dying, wanting more, wanting him, wanting justice. So she wavered between acceptance and rage until...

 

A hand touched her shoulder, and the sweetest words she had ever heard in her life resounded in her ears. “Let me help.”

 

She ran her hand over the back of her head. The scar was there, the dent in her skull. She made sure to comb her hair over it and told no one, not even Cullen. At least she could see, for a given value of ‘see’. Her right eye was growing clearer, but her left was not, the world still hazy when she looked out of it. She wondered if that would pass enough for her to read on her own again. She was squinting too hard to read comfortably now, not that anyone needed to know, least of all Cullen. Not yet. He had bigger things to worry about right now.

 

She turned away from the dragon. There was only so much time one could spend with a dead lizard before the depression set it. Evelyn heard that Bull came down to talk to it. Must be a Qunari thing.

 

Her footsteps now took her up to the rookery. The keep was strange with everyone gone. “Leliana,” she called, and the ravens erupted in cacophony. She winced at the noise. One crow with a white feather on its breast cawed particularly viciously at her. “Oh quiet you, Mr Winkles,” she muttered and went to the bird feed boxes. She took out a few seeds and held them through the bars of Mr Winkles’ cage, then pulled her fingers away quickly before the bird’s razor-sharp beak took her finger off. “We’ll be friends soon, Mr Winkles,” she smiled and put her finger through the bar to pat the bird on the wing. The crow grudgingly let her as it ate the seeds, holding it in his claw. She smiled proudly and left. Progress. Mr Winkles was a nice bird deep down, she was sure. He was also the fastest, and she would like that he be bonded to her, a little.

 

As she descended the stairs from the rotunda, she saw Varric coming the other way. “There you are,” Varric said. He wrinkled his nose. “Been down to see the latest member of the Inquisition, I’ll bet?”

 

“Can you tell?” she asked, sniffing her leathers. She stank faintly of soot and lizard and rotting meat. “Ugh. Stupid dragon.”

 

“You free tonight, Giggles?”

 

“Why?” she asked slowly, eyeing the dwarf.

 

“Come play Wicked Grace with us. To celebrate our minor victory!”

 

Evelyn grinned. “I’m in. Now?”

 

Varric gestured for her to follow him. “Should we get Cullen? He killed a dragon - he’s allowed to not spend an evening reading reports or yelling at history books.”

 

“Surprise! He’s there already.”

 

“No! This is a surprise!”

 

The Herald’s rest was busy, but there, in the middle of the room, was a large table. The others were gathered there, as was Josephine. Cullen was seated next to Bull, smiling with his eyes as he lifted a mug to his lips at the same time as Bull.

 

“Well now! This is a party!” Evelyn grinned, sitting at the table. Cullen burst out coughing. Evelyn looked at him, tearing, cheeks red.

 

“Good, isn’t it?” Bull grinned, patting Cullen on the back heavily. “It’ll put chest on your chest.”

 

“Anything to give him hair on his chest? What’s your secret, Varric?” Evelyn asked as she filled a cup with brandy.

 

“Evelyn!” Cullen croaked.

 

“You just need to accept that your boyfriend will never have this shag carpet, Giggles,” Varric shrugged, running his hand proudly over his chest.

 

“It blocked dragon fire,” Blackwall grinned.

 

“That fire,” Bull sighed happily. “And that little gurgle before it died… Taarsidath-an halsaam…”

 

“What does that mean?” Cole asked, blinking at Bull. “You shouted that during the battle, as well.”

 

“It means, I will bring myself sexual pleasure later while thinking about this with great respect,” Bull said. “Roughly translated.” He refilled Cullen’s cup.

 

“Sweet Andraste,” Cullen exclaimed.

 

“You yelled that as it was breathing fire as us?” Cassandra asked, glaring at Bull across the table from over her cup.

 

“I know right!” Bull grinned and he grunted. “Think about that, Cullen - your sword sinking into its flesh, hot burning blood on your hand, yeah…” He winked at Evelyn. “Put you in the mood, alright.”

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen’s blush bloomed even as Evelyn burst out laughing. “For someone shot up with poison from Qunari agents, you are oddly energetic.”

 

“How on earth did I wind up with that big ox,” Dorian sighed.

 

“We’ll talk tomorrow, Dorian,” Evelyn grinned. “If we can both walk.” Their cups clinked.

 

“Would you like some wine Cole?” Josephine asked.

 

“NO!” Cullen and Varric cried.

 

“But wine is nice,” Cole blinked.

 

“Water is nice too,” Cullen said.

 

“Right, Ruffles, we’re all here. Might as well start dealing,” Varric said.

 

“I do hope I remember all the rules,” Josephine chuckled, shuffling the cards. “It’s been ages since I’ve played a game of Wicked Grace.”

 

“Is this Truth or Dare Wicked Grace?” Dorian asked as Josephine started dealing with surprising skill.

 

“Want to kiss girls again, Dori?” Evelyn asked demurely, picking up her cards. She could see well enough by the light of the fire to read these, at least.

 

“Are three drakes better than a pair of swords?” Cassandra asked, scowling at her cards. “Ugh I can never remember!”

 

“Seeker, remember how I said don’t show anyone your hand? That rule applies to announcing it at the table too,” Varric chuckled.

 

“There’s a crown on his head,” Cole said, looking at his cards. “But a sword too. His head didn’t want either.”

 

“We don’t always get what our head wants, dear,” Evelyn said warmly.

 

“I really do have a thousand things to do--” Cullen began.

 

“Losing money can be both relaxing and habit forming,” Dorian drawled. “Give it a try, Cullen.”

 

“Curly, if anyone ever needed a hobby, it’s you,” Varric said.

 

“I have lots of things to do in my spare time,” Cullen said, but he did pick up his cards.

 

“I’m one of them,” Evelyn murmured, arranging her cards She heard Cassandra snort and Dorian burst out laughing. “Did I say that out loud?” she exclaimed.

 

“Yes, yes you did,” Blackwall grinned. “I think out Inquisitor is not drunk enough.”

 

“Easily fixed!” Bull filled up Cullen’s cup to the brim.

 

“Bull - really stop!” Cullen sputtered as the cup overflowed onto the table. He had no choice but to take a sip to keep from making a mess.

 

“Right, dealer starts,” Josephine said, tapping her lips with her cards. “I’ll start at… three coppers. Do you think that’s too daring? No, boldness! Three it is!”

 

“Seriously, who starts at three coppers?” Bull demanded. “Silver or go home!”

 

“Sounds good, I’m in,” said Blackwall, throwing down three silvers.

 

“Me too,” Dorian said, doing the same.

 

“This is why we have to resort to truth or dare wicked grace,” Evelyn sighed. “Because Bull demands silvers and none of us are that rich.”

 

“What is truth or dare Wicked Grace?” Cassandra asked.

 

“We bet dares instead,” Dorian replied. “It’s exhilarating. We’ll see how this goes, if the money runs out.”

 

As the drink flowed, so did the coin and the stories. Bawdy and strange tales were told, it seemed to Evelyn that everyone had a bit of weirdness in their lives to share. “The recruit ran out into the dining hall in nothing but his knickers,” Cullen was saying as he grinned over his cards. “And this profound silence fell over the hall as seventy mages and thirty templars all turned to stare at once! Then a slow round of applause began, and spread until every soul was on their feet in a standing ovation!”

 

“No!” Cassandra gasped.

 

“What did he do?” Josephine giggled.

 

“Saluted, turned on his heel and marched out like he was in full armour.”

 

The laughter erupted all around the table. “He did not!” Cassandra exclaimed.

 

“Good man!” Dorian approved.

 

“You’re shitting us,” Bull slammed the table as he laughed.

 

“I like the part with the rabbit,” Cole murmured.

 

“That’s how you know it’s true,” Varric grinned. “I could never put that in a book - too unlikely.”

 

“Maker, and he’s your King?” Evelyn asked.

 

“Well, he has a mabari,” Cullen shrugged.

 

“That is SO Fereldan,” Evelyn rolled her eyes as she set down her cards. “All angels, by the way,” she said smugly.

 

Laughter turned to groans as the others showed their cards. Even Cullen couldn’t beat that. But Josephine was smiling at Evelyn. “Show your cards, Josie…” Evelyn said.

 

“Royal house,” Josephine said demurely and lay her cards down. “Dealer wins,” she pulled the pool of money to her as the others groaned. Evelyn sighed and lay her head down on the table in defeat.

 

“Did I ever tell you about the time we broke into Chateau Haine?” Varric said as Josephine started to deal again. It seemed to Evelyn that the Champion of Kirkwall had the oddest adventures and the worst jokes in the world, but then again, she was pretty drunk so she couldn’t judge. Finally, Varric ended with, “And then Hawke says, “It looks like the duke has… fallen from grace.”

 

There were groans and laughter in equal parts now, except for Bull, who was passed out on the table beside Cullen. “Cassandra, you need to kick some better jokes into him,” Evelyn groaned. Evelyn couldn’t help but notice that Cullen was laughing. Well. Perhaps he and Hawke had more in common that they realized.

 

“I’ll make that a point, perhaps,” Cassandra said, but she was grinning despite herself.

 

“So that’s how Duke Prosper died,” Josephine said thoughtfully. “That’s actually perfect for him.”

 

“Josie, cards,” Evelyn said.

 

Josephine blinked. “Oh! Right. Cards, sorry.” She started to shuffle her cards. “Varric took the last hand. Is everyone ready to ante up?”

 

“I think we need another round of drinks first,” Evelyn giggled.

 

“I’ll get them,” Cullen said, standing up. “Don’t start without me.”

 

The round of drinks was probably a bad idea, Evelyn noted, since everyone was too drunk to really bluff. Except for Josephine. “And the dealer takes everything!” she said brightly as she swept the coins towards her growing pile. “I win again!”

 

“This is ridiculous,” Cullen complained. “Deal again, I’ve figured out your tells, Lady Ambassador.”

 

“Inquisitor,” Josephine gasped. “Everyone knows a lady has no tells.”

 

Cullen leaned forward, his eyes intent. Evelyn did not see this ending well. “Then let’s see if your good fortune lasts one more hand…”

 

“I’m getting goosebumps,” Dorian said.

 

“I’m out,” Evelyn giggled. “I want to watch this.” Her cheeks were hot. She was definitely getting to tipsy town.

 

“I’m out of money,” Cassandra said. Dorain topped up her glass.

 

Cullen was drinking that Qunari drink. Whatever it was. He was pink now. Like Schmooples. Evelyn sipped her brandy as she watched Josephine deal the cards. Cullen looked at his cards. Evelyn saw that slight little smile. He was really terrible at this game. She giggled to herself.

 

“I think Giggles is starting,” Varric said, grinning at Evelyn.

 

Evelyn only giggled harder. “Shut up. Varric help him,” she said.

 

“What? Curly’s fine, right?”

 

“Absolutely,” Cullen said, setting his cards on the table. “Place your bet, Lady Montilyet.”

 

Varric glanced at Cullen, then Josephine. “No, you’re not. Word of advice?”

 

“It’s fine, I’m winning my money back.”

 

Josephine smiled and lifted up a glinting gold coin. “Shall we up the ante, Cullen?”

 

“Playing for gold now?” Cullen asked.

 

Josephine smiled at him. “If you’d like to fold…”

 

Cullen set down a gold coin. Josephine kept raising the bets, since she could afford to, having won everyone’s money. Cullen ran out quicker. Josephine put down three gold and fifty silver. “Really?” Cullen asked her, his face like thunder.

 

“Are you not confident of your cards, Inquisitor?” Josephine said.

 

Cullen glowered at her. Then he took off his shawl and put it on the coins. Evelyn gasped as Dorian cooed. Then she broke down into giggles.

 

“Curly, no, bad idea,” Varric said.

 

“It’s fine!” Cullen snapped. “She’s bluffing.”

 

“You tried this with Hawke.”

 

“I won it back.”

 

“No, he gave it back, it’s really not the same thing.”

 

Josephine tossed another three gold coins onto the shawl. Cullen glared at her and started to unbuckle his pauldron.

 

“Evelyn hold me,” Dorian said. Evelyn grasped his hands across Cassandra, who was watching transfixed.

 

“Maybe we should-- Argh!” Blackwall began but someone kicked him under the table.

 

“I can keep going, you know,” Josephine said cooly.

 

“Even if you do, you’re not going to win,” Cullen said firmly.

 

Josephine dropped another three. Cullen reached for his other pauldron.

 

Cassandra started to laugh into her cup.

 

But Josephine was relentless. She kept putting down money. When she ran out of gold, she brought out silvers. Cullen had no more coin to bet, but like the stubborn idiot Evelyn knew him to be, he wasn’t giving in. The pile on the table was growing larger with money and clothes. Until finally, there was nothing left for Cullen to bid. Evelyn was giggling into her hands, her cheeks red.

 

“Have you anything left to bet?” Josephine asked mildly.

 

“No,” Cullen grated. “Show your cards, Lady Montilyet.”

 

And so she did. Cullen glared at them. Varric started to snigger. “Not a word, dwarf,” Cullen growled.

 

“I- I tried to warn you Curly,” Varric couldn’t breathe for the laughter.

 

Evelyn was giggling. Cullen was turning red from the neck down. Like Schmooples. She giggled even more. He looked at her with a betrayed look.

 

“Never bet against an Antivan,” Josephine purred as she gathered the pile of clothes, money and armour in her arms.

 

Cullen glowered at the table and shifted in his seat.

 

“I didn’t know it comes off,” Cole blinked at him. He started to move to look under the table. Cullen stiffened.

 

“Cole!” Evelyn came to his rescue. “Maybe you could help Lady Montilyet carry her winnings?”

 

“Alright,” Cole said and helped Josephine to carry the heavier pieces.

 

“I’ll send everything back in the morning, Cullen,” Josephine said magnanimously.

 

Cullen said nothing.

 

“I’m leaving, I don’t want to see our Inquisitor’s walk of shame back to his quarters,” Cassandra laughed and stood up.

 

“Well, I do,” Dorian grinned, then winced. “Evelyn, you really needn’t kick everyone.”

 

Evelyn stood up as the table dispersed, leaving Cullen alone in the empty Rest, with Bull still passed out on the table. She started undoing her belt and her fur shawl at her waist as she stepped out into the cool air and quickly climbed the stairs to the battlements. Where would he go? She got to the door just as it burst open. She whipped her furs out, catching Cullen around the waist as he ran past.

 

“Well now, Inquisitor,” Evelyn smiled up at him, laughter lilting her voice as she pulled him towards her. She leaned back against the wall by the open door, her hands gripping the fur closed around his waist.  “What do I get for saving your squandered dignity?”

 

He set both arms on the wall beside her head, smirking but unable to hide the relief in his eyes. “Whatever you want, Commander,” he said, that smug voice of his washing over her, making her tingle. His voice was amazing, when he got in the mood. She tried to focus. She had the upper hand here.

 

She caught her giggle and bit it back. “I don’t know,” she said, trying to be serious. “I can think of a lot of things I want.”

 

“I’m sure,” he smirked, coming closer to her. “Assist me and I’ll make it worth your time.”  His nose nuzzled her hair. She tittered, then really tried to stop. “You really do giggle at everything,” he chuckled.

 

“Stop it,” she giggled and covered her mouth with one hand, looking up at him helplessly. Then she smacked his bare chest, realizing he was breaking out in goosebumps atop the cold battlements. “Make it worth my time.”

 

“Of course, I would be in your debt, your every word will be my command,” he promised.

 

She liked the sound of that. Her belt cinched around his waist, holding the furs in place. “My quarters are closer.”

 

“I know,” he said and nipped her ear. “Where do you think I was going?” She gasped as Cullen lifted her up and slung her over his shoulder. She giggled loudly but covered her mouth. The last thing she wanted was someone seeing them as he carried her over his shoulder to her office, her laughter trailing in the air behind them like bird song.

+++++

 

It was the following morning that it happened. As Skyhold rose, Evelyn readying for her drills, donning her armour, Cullen was awoken by the mark flaring. He gasped as he sat up in bed, staring at the mark that blazed on its own accord. 

 

Evelyn stared at him as she lowered her hand from her chestplate. “Cullen?” she said softly. Then green light burst in through her windows, staining her white armour sickly green. Cullen threw off the sheets and went to the embrasure windows, uncaring of his nakedness. Through the narrow slit, he saw the sky. The Breach was gaped upon the world, swirling once more, spitting fade fire and rocks. Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Corypheus,” he growled. 

 

“He opened the breach again?” Evelyn breathed. “But why? Without the Anchor--”

 

“Summon the War Council, Commander,” Cullen said. “Today we end this.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the sexing!


	44. The Lion of Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited with new Ball Scene.

They rode out under the green sky, everyone that Cullen had gathered, horses thundering along the pass that led up to Haven once again. The sky above broiled with green flame and the lands swarmed with demons. Where they could, they rode the demons down. They were not here to deal with small wisps and terror demons. Those could be swept up later, but now, Cullen hunted Corypheus. His stomach knotted at the thought of facing that ancient magister, but this time… this time it was different. This time he was not alone in facing him. He would not flee through a mirror.

 

Cullen steered his war horse past the wreckage of Haven, Only the top of the chantry peeking over the snow, the tattered banner of the Inquisition fluttering mournfully in the breeze, remnants of trebuchet arms reaching up through the snow, clawing at the sky. No more would they be routed as they were at Haven. Evelyn awaited at Skyhold, her trebuchets and ballistae trained to the heavens as her stone lions roared in defiance, the impregnable gates barred shut. She had prepared the keep well, Cullen knew a strong defence when he saw one.

 

A demon burst through the snow, the shade charging at him until arrow fletching sprouted from its eye. It screamed and fell dead. “Good shot,” Varric said behind him.

 

“Always,” Sera replied, shouldering her bow as she galloped behind Cullen. “No more demons! I’m going to stick Coryphytit full of arrows today - right up his bung hole!”

 

“I’ll hammer them in,” The Iron Bull said. “Tal-Va-fucking-Shoth… I’ll show you what a Tal-Vashoth can do!”

 

Cullen smiled to himself. Everyone he had gathered, everyone who pledged themselves to the Inquisition rode behind him, their horses hooves thundering in the snow like the impending storm - Seeker Cassandra, The Iron Bull, Madame De Fer, Dorian of Tevinter, Red Jenny, Warden Blackwall, Varric Tethras, Cole, and Solas, the apostate who seemed to know all. And somewhere nearby, Lady Morrigan, daughter of the woman who carried Mythal. He was not alone. As their horses thundered on, Cullen felt their hearts beating with him. There was no room for fear now. Corypheus had to die once and for all.

 

They pounded up the pass towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Scout Harding’s horse galloped from the trees that lined the pass, the crow on her shoulder beat its wings, its white feather flashing on its breast. Her horse rode up beside Cullen’s. “Word on the pass,” Cullen demanded.

 

“Clear to the Temple, but he’s waiting there,” Harding reported.

 

“Be ready to send word back,” Cullen growled, pushing his horse ahead.

 

The rounded the bend in the pass, the temple looming before them, red lyrium glowing red in the green light of the Breach. Cullen dismounted and they left their horses with Harding. He drew his blade, his weapon of office glinted, the dragon wrapped around the guard reflecting the baleful green light. The rocks around him started to inexplicably rise. Cullen did not pay them mind. There were demons before them. Cassandra, Bull and Blackwall leapt forward, cutting them down as Cullen climbed the stairs to the entrance of the temple.

 

Not alone, more angry than afraid, Cullen saw him then, standing at the archway with the orb sparking red overhead as it hung in the air. Corypheus bowed. “I knew you would come,” he said to Cullen, a sneer on his lips.

 

“Remember the plan,” Cullen said to the others behind him.

 

“We are not afraid,” Cole said softly as he drew his daggers. “He hurt people. He has to die.”

 

“He will,” Cullen growled. “It ends here.”

 

Corypheus laughed. “And so it shall.”

 

He raised his clawed hand to the orb and the ground began to shake. Cullen was thrown to his knees, the remnants of the temple rising above. He saw the path behind him fall away as the mountains lowered in the distance. Spires of rock, pieces of mountain torn from the ground were rising around them, rising to the breach, black shadows against the green light above. Corypheus was lifting a mountain! _Though all before me is shadow_ … Cullen grit his teeth as he braced against the vibrations of ripping rock. He was not going to die today!

 

“Shitfuckshittitsbollocks!” Sera growled as she clung to the ground.

 

“Keep it together, girl!” Blackwall barked at her. Sera bit her lip and calmed.

 

The air was colder. Cullen looked up, snaking red lines streaked through the ground like veins, pulsing with a distant heartbeat. The voices were hissing in his ears now. He knew. The orb. He knew what it was, clear as day now that the voices beheld it - he knew the blood that was spilled to unlock it from its eons-long slumber. The Divine was the final sacrifice. He rose to his feet as the shaking stopped.

 

“You have been most successful in foiling my plans,” Corypheus said, standing calmly with the orb in hand. “But let us not forget what you are. A thief in the wrong place at the wrong time, an interloper, a gnat. We shall prove here, once and for all, who is worthy of godhood.”

 

Cullen raised his blade. “There is only one God, Corypheus,” he growled. “And He does not need an orb!”

 

Corypheus’s eyes narrowed. Cullen heard it then, the growl like a broiling iron works. The dragon rose over the ruins of the temple behind Corypheus, its teeth bared. Cullen stared at it, the voices rising in his mind. Corypheus raised his hand and the then dragon pounced, wings spread, claws reaching out to him. Cullen’s eyes met the dragon’s, seeing the piece of Corypheus within, glowing with pride - then Morrigan slammed into the beast with a roar, the gale from their wings and the impact tossing the furs of Cullen's shawl. Cullen watched. The dragons tumbled in the air, clawing at each other, red and purple, snarling and rising to the sky as they grappled. Cullen’s eyes locked on Corypheus then. The ancient darkspawn had an affronted look in his eyes. “You dare…” he growled.

 

“Now!” Cullen shouted and the others sprang forth. Bull, Blackwall and Cassandra took up formation behind him as the charged Corypheus, Cullen could hear the mages and the archers fan out behind him. “A dragon - how clever! But it will avail you not!” Corypheus cried, raising his hand, the air bursting with green. Demons sprang forth from the Fade.

 

“Break!” Cullen barked. The other warriors broke formation and ran to the demons, pinning them as the mages fired off their spells. Cullen felt the barrier rise over him. Solas. Good. He was near enough to see Corypheus's eyes now, burning, baleful. Cullen raised his sword and struck. The magister caught his blade on bony clawed protrusion on his arm. “You dare to touch an avatar of divinity?” Corypheus growled. Then cried out as arrows buried themselves in his side. The voices rose in Cullen’s mind, He pulled dodged as Corypheus clawed at him. Cullen deflected the blow and raised his shield. The ray of red lyrium blasted from Corypheus’s fist towards the archers. Cullen’s shield caught it, deflecting it to the sky.

 

The crystal was singing in his ears now, the voices rose like a wave upon the shore, sweeping the song aside. Corypheus pulled back, raising his own barrier over himself. Cullen charged then, Cassandra running next to him. Their bodies flashed green and blue as Cullen pulled from the power of the mark. The barrier around Corypheus shattered and he staggered. They raised their blades but Corypheus fled with a snarl, rising in the air over the archway. they gaped up at him, the thrown spells of the mages bouncing off the darkspawn.

 

“Look at you! A soporati nipping at the heels of your betters!” Corypheus raised his arm and the ground at their feet flickered red. Cullen and Cassandra jumped back as red lyrium crystals burst at their feet, blocking the archway. Then, Bull was there, growling a war cry of the Qun that rivaled the roar of any dragon. His hammer rose and fell. Cullen shielded his face, crystals pinging off his shield.

 

When he looked up, Corypheus was gone.

 

“Why’s a God hiding then?” Dorian cried. “We have him on the run!”

 

“The stairs!” Solas barked.

 

Cullen pushed through the destroyed crystals to the stairway beyond, climbing the remnants of a shattered tower to arrive at the top, where Corypheus awaited atop a higher floor out of their reach. “Fool!” Corypheus growled. “As you wish!”

 

Cullen ducked just in time as the red lyrium ray fired. It struck Bull before he ducked behind a rock, but Dorian was too slow. The mage took the ray to the chest, tumbling back down the stairs until Sera and Varric caught him. “Dorian!” Cullen cried. Bull growled viciously and charged.

 

“Bull, no!” Blackwall called. The Iron Bull did not heed him, charging with his horns and hammer flashing in the light of the ray. Corypheus turned the ray to Bull, who ran right through it, his roar never ceasing. Cullen ran out to give him cover. Then it rose over them, a barrier of pure life-giving magic.

 

Bull held his hammer low behind him, his chest covered with red crystals. “Get on the hammer! Brace!”

 

Cullen grit his teeth. He hated this - even if they did practice this to kill dragons. Bull skid to a halt near the foot of the raised floor Corypheus stood upon. Cullen’s foot landed on the head of the hammer, his leg bracing, coiled like a spring. Then Bull swung hard. Cullen rose in the air, his sword flashing. Corypheus snarled and flickered in a flash of red. Cullen rolled as he landed, swearing as he saw Corypheus rising overhead at a higher part of the tower. Then the air blasted downwards as the dragons flew by, their wings ripping the air.

 

Cullen glanced at the stairs, seeing Dorian rising as Vivienne held the spell over them all. The dragons roared. Morrigan was rising into the Breach, her wings ripping parts of mountains off as she flew by, raining rocks down on them. The red lyrium dragon dodged the falling boulders, smashing them with his wings. Cullen saw the speck of Morrigan against the light of the breach,. He shielded his eyes with his hand as she plummeted, slamming into the red lyrium dragon, throwing them both into a freefall, hot dragon blood raining down on the others below. Cullen heard the voices and his eyes widened. “Take cover!” he shouted over the reptilian screams of pain.

 

The dragons smashed into the top of the tower. Cullen was thrown from the upper platform, landing heavily on the ground. The whole tower shook as lights flashed in his eyes, his head hitting the ground. He blinked them away and staggered to his feet, sword in hand. The red dragon lay sprawled at the far side of the huge tower floor. It was silent. The others were pulling themselves to their feet as well, somewhat dazed. Morrigan lay on the ground, her head bleeding, her body still. Cullen saw Corypheus watching from above, smirking.

 

Then the sound of an intake of breath tore the air. Cullen turned. The red dragon grunted, red lyrium crystallizing in the air from its breath. The beast lifted one leg and propped itself up, one huge wing unfurling, casting them in shadow from the light of the Breach. There was the smell of blood from the creature, Cullen could see where its scales were ripped off from its battle with Morrigan. “Form up!” Cullen commanded. “Just like in the Hinterlands.”

 

“I’ll kill your stupid arse fuck dragon, Coryphydick!” Sera cried in rage. “No more!”

 

“No more,” Cole agreed.

 

Vivienne walked forward to join Cullen at his side. “Are you going to tell me not to take risks again?” Vivienne asked as her spirit blade blazed to life in her hand. The dragon was on its feet now, looking around blearily.

 

“On the contrary,” Cullen said. “Do all you can.”

 

“Good,” Vivienne purred.

 

And they charged, the First Enchanter running with the warriors, Cole’s footsteps behind him, then the boy blinked out of sight. The dragon saw them and shook its head, roaring in challenge.

 

Cullen’s body flashed with green, the dragon’s eye turning to him. He charged, the beast rearing up to raise a claw. It smashed down on the ground at Cullen, who rolled out of the way, the dragon watching him, ignoring the rest. Corypheus was behind this. Cullen had it’s full attention. Bull and Cassandra ran for the beast’s legs, their weapons flashing in the light of Vivienne’s blade that blazed with every strike. He sprang to his feet, the dragon biting down at him. Cullen barely dodged, the snapping jaws tossing the fur of his shawl. It swiped at him before he could get to his feet and he was thrown across the tower top, rolling and bouncing over rocks, lights flashing in his head.

 

His skull bloomed with pain and his shoulder hung oddly at his side, though he still gripped his shield. He grunted, and tried to pull himself to his feet, the pain flaring from his body as he moved, a swelling crescendo. The dragon was drawing a breath. The universe filled with fire then, red crystals burning the air as the dragon breath ripped towards him. Then Blackwall was there, crouching just as the breach audibly seared the air. Cullen grit his teeth, shielded by Blackwall’s shield, their bodies flaring with green flashes as the fire tore at their barrier which was constantly being repaired. “Pop that shoulder back in!” Blackwall growled as around him, the fires swirled, the edges of his shield glowing from red to white from the heat.

 

Cullen grit his teeth and put down his sword as they turtled up behind the shield and gripped his shoulder. He cried out once as the shoulder popped in. Then he picked up his sword. The fire stopped abruptly as something bright was thrown, blindingly flashing in the air. Cullen and Blackwall sprang up. Bolts riddled the beast’s head, something flashing around the dragon’s eyes, bright and on fire. Sera’s arrows filled the air as her body was weathed in flame, darting around the dragon’s lowered head. Then from above, Cole flickered into view, blades flashing as it drove them both down into the base of the dragon’s skull. the dragon screamed in pain and swiped both Cole and Sera out of the way with a wing. It shook its head, raining blood down upon the warriors below. It started to beat its wings, pushing the air. Cullen felt himself dragged inexorably forward in the vortex formed by the dragon’s wings. Blackwall braced, but their feet dragged across the stones. The Dorian and Solas were being pulled in, as was Varric. The dragon opened its maw, the air tearing with the sound of growing crystal as a fireball swelled at its lips.

 

Cullen’s eyes widened. If they were hit--

 

Then, as a wing reached the bottom of its flap, a bubble appeared around it, trapping the base. The gale weakened as the dragon sought to pull its wing free the fireball growing at its mouth. Cassandra ran up the wing, throwing away her shield. The dragon staggered, one back knee breaking as Bull’s cry resounded. Cassandra ran up the dragon’s neck, her sword finding its target where the dragon’s scale had been torn off, She grasped the hilt with both hands and stabbed the blade into the dragon’s neck with a roar.

 

The dragon threw its head back and screamed, the fireball exploding in the air, throwing them  all to the ground as flames and red crystal sailed overhead. Cullen saw Cassandra land hard away from the dragon. The beast sank to the ground, bleeding, spouting flame savagely at the air as its head flailed. Then Cole was there. The boy appeared at the dragon’s head, clinging onto one horn as the dragon thrashed, a blood covered dagger in his hand. Cullen choked in horror as the boy stuck his arm into the dragon’s mouth. The fire flickered out and the dragon fell still, the head slamming down into the ground.

 

They got to their feet. Cole staggering away, his right arm charred and blackened and bleeding. The boy was crying from pain. Cassandra staggered as she rose, blood running down her shield arm. Sera was limping, sparing the leg that was broken in the Wilds.

 

The dragon was still breathing, its tongue lolled out as its baleful eye followed Cullen, the slit narrowed. Then the last gurgle of breath escaped its lips. Red crystalline fire flared from its eye and blazed through the air. It wreathed itself around Corypheus as he cried out in rage. The orb glowed brighter and the magister vanished from where he was watching them. “He’s digging in!” Blackwall said, throwing away his glowing shield.

 

Cullen looked at all their faces, some bleeding, some not, but all had fire in their eyes. “Then we go on,” Cullen said. “We have made Corypheus desperate. I don’t know what he will do. I am not ordering you to do this.”

 

“We are wasting time,” Cassandra said, holding her sword, her arm limp by her side. She straightened up. “He has made us very desperate too.”

 

“We’re killing him this time,” Varric said.

 

“You’re not thinking of taking all the glory are you?” Dorian asked, the front of his body caked with crystal, his robes burnt and charred, revealing equally burnt skin underneath.

 

Cullen snorted. “Then let’s do this.”

 

They walked forward, climbing the remnants of the tower, seeking Corypheus. The air above them blazed red then. They ran forward. Corypheus was at the very top of the tower, ruined columns clawing at the sky. The orb hung in the air, flaring red as Corypheus stood underneath it, his hand stretched out to the orb. “Let it end here!” he cried. “Let the skies boil! Let the world be rent asunder!”

 

Cullen looked up at the sky, the breach growing larger above them, swirling like a vortex, drawing the torn mountain inexorably towards it. “The Breach is getting bigger!” Solas cried.

 

“Then it swallows the world, right?” Varric said.

 

“We must retrieve that orb!” Solas exclaimed.

 

Cullen charged with the others behind him, the warriors fanned out around Corypheus, fighting on despite their injuries. His blade cut into Corypheus, but it did not penetrate as deep as Cullen hoped. Corypheus flickered away and attacked them with red lyrium rays from his hands. The warriors scattered from the ray. Cullen kept at a distance, the ray burning as it caught his leg. The voices were speaking to him. “Shut up!” he snapped, running from the way.

 

“You will be a fitting example to those who dare stand against a god!” Corypheus cried, his hand firing out at Varric and Sera, who scrambled aside. He stopped then and his clawed hand knocked away Cole who flickered into view behind him. Cole flew down the stairs like a rag doll. “Cole!” Cullen shouted.

 

“Not even your pet demon can save you now!”

 

“He needs to shut up,” Dorian purred. The voices in Cullen’s head were roaring in bizarre jubilation. Dorian stood at the top of the stairs, his hands raised palm up before him. Vivienne and Solas stood with their hand on Dorian’s shoulder. Something was pouring out of them into Dorian, and Cullen felt the magic thicken in the air around him. A skull flashed above Dorian’s head then, the mage’s eyes glowed purple. Cullen cried out as the veil was pulled so violently it hurt. From behind them, something rose, massive and glowing purple, wings outstretched like an avenging angel. The spirit of the dragon reared its head up, screeching, then swooped down and barreled into Corypheus.

 

Cullen and the other warriors scrambled out of the way as the spirit of the dragon landed, ripping at Corypheus with glowing talons. Its gaping maw bit down hard, drawing the magisters blood. Corypheus snarled and let out blasts of red fire, shards of crystals blooming violently at his feet, dispelling the dragon. Cullen crouched in cover as rocks were thrown in the battle. Dorian was drawing magic from Vivienne and Solas both, his eyes glowing, his face serene, his hands still. And yet tendrils of blood were flowing from his nose, drifting upwards with the power of the spell. Cullen never knew they could do this. This was beyond any teaching at the Circles.

 

Then the air tore apart in a violent explosion. Cullen’s ears were ringing. Dorian collapsed, Vivienne and Solas looking winded as they sank down, too weak to stand. The others staggered up from the blast. They were on their last legs, they couldn’t carry on much longer. Cullen stepped out from behind cover and strode to Corypheus, ignoring the pain all over his body, his mind filled with the crescendo of voices from the Well that sang in jubilation and awe. Never in an age had a dragon been raised from the dead. Cullen would be impressed later.

 

Corpheus staggered, bleeding, panting. He saw Cullen approaching and blasted him back with red lyrium. He reached out for the orb, which sprang to his hand, flaring red.

 

Cullen pulled himself heavily to his feet. He dropped his shield and sword. If this did not work, the weapons would not save him.

 

“Not like this,” Corypheus snarled, his hands pouring power into the orb. “I have walked the halls of the Golden City, crossed the ages--” The orb was fighting him, pulling away as he struggled to hold it bound to his will. Cullen let the mark flare on his hand as he stood before Corypheus. “Dumat!” Corypheus cried. “Ancient ones! I beseech you! If you exist - if you ever truly existed - aid me now!” He turned to Cullen, raising the orb as the spell flared at his fingertips. Cullen raised his hand, the voices a gale in his mind.

 

“Here,” Cullen said softly.

 

The orb sprang from Corypheus's hand to Cullen’s so fast Cullen staggered to catch it. He saw it flaring in his palm, glowing green like his mark. It spun and the voices reached out to the foci. Cullen looked up. He knew what to do. He would cast a spell. The only one he would ever need to cast in his life. He raised his hand to the sky, he orb reaching back into his mind as much as his thoughts melded with the power of the orb. “Close!” he shouted.

 

And the orb blazed. A spire of magic shooting to the heart of the breach, reversing the swirls of the clouds. The Breach pulsed, bloating then shrinking, twisting as it bowed to the will of the orb. Cullen gasped then as the orb’s power surged forth. Visions sprang to his mind - armies raging across the hills, magic ripping the air apart, the sky ablaze with power, above it all, a lone figure, holding the orb as he did now, its power lancing into the sky. The vision exploded with the cries of lamentation suddenly ceased in death. He gasped as the orb flickered out. He dropped it onto the ground, holding his head. What was that? Who was that? The one who wielded the orb before him.

 

He heard a startled choke as Corypheus fell to his knees, gasping hoarsely in agony as he faced his own defeat. Cullen felt the anger swelling in him again. He strode to Corypheus, the ground beginning to shake, smaller pieces of mountain dropping from the sky. “You wanted into the fade?” Cullen growled, the mark flaring with his rage. He set his hand on Corypheus’s chest. “Go then.” He opened the rift. He heard the scream, the breaking bones as Corypheus was torn apart from within. A piece of him vanished into the Fade, the rift ripping him apart. Cullen saw the fear in the ancient Magister’s eyes that mirrored his own back at Haven and the Temple of Mythal. “You’ve lost,” Cullen snarled as the rift took Corypheus's arms, tearing them off. “And now you will meet my Maker.” Corypheus’s jaw was torn off, his chest broken, his legs snapped to the crescendo of his screams. Cullen watched, until Corypheus vanished into the rift, which flickered away. The mark flared joyfully on his hand.  

 

Then he sagged as the pain he had been ignoring came to claim their dues, with interest. He said nothing, because this was not a contest. Corypheus had threatened the world, and now he was put down.

 

Then the ground moved under them. Cullen looked up, pieces of mountain raining down. “Run!” he barked. He fled as boulders the size of houses fell into the tower top. He grabbed Blackwall who was slow to his feet and they ran as behind them, a boulder the size of a chantry smashed down into the tower top and rolled off. Then Cullen’s feet lifted gently off the ground as the tower they were on fell from the sky.

 

“Maker!” Cullen cried as he suddenly landed hard and the world turned black.

 

+++++

 

Cullen blinked in the bizarre silence that filled his ears. He was on his back, his head sticky with blood. He grunted and pulled himself up, hissing through the pain. The others lay on the ground, also slowly rousing. The tower top was at an angle. Cullen limped to the side of the tower and looked over. Morrigan was stirring below, groaning. Cullen sighed in relief. Thank the Maker she was alive. Flemeth would have been devastated, though he couldn’t explain how he knew this. Light footfalls made him turn. Solas walked up to where the orb had fallen. Cullen glanced at the others slowly rising, then walked over to Solas. The elf knelt down to pick up a piece of the orb, broken in two by the rain of boulders.

 

Cullen winced from the pain of moving and joined him, standing beside Solas. “Solas?” he said quietly.

 

“The orb,” Solas croaked, his voice heavy with sorrow.

 

“I’m sorry we could not save it,” Cullen said. “But Corypheus is dead, that is what’s important.”

 

“Yet so much has been lost,” Solas said. He set down the broken piece of the orb and stood up. When he turned to Cullen, there was true sorrow and regret in the elf’s eyes.

 

“There’s more, isn’t there?”  

 

“It was not supposed to happen this way,” Solas let out a ragged breath, his eyes almost pleading.

 

Cullen frowned as he look at Solas. “What do you mean?”

 

Solas lowered his gaze. “No matter what comes, Cullen, I want you to know you shall always have my respect.”

 

“No matter what comes?” Cullen asked.

 

“Cullen!” he heard Cassandra calling him.

 

Cullen looked over his shoulder. She was on her feet, as were the rest of them. They had survived - all of them had! Bull was holding Dorian tenderly as the mage struggled to stand.

 

“Where is Solas?” Cassandra asked then.

 

“What? He’s right--” Cullen turned back. Solas was gone, leaving only the remains of the orb behind. Cullen stared at the orb. “No matter what comes?” he murmured. He looked out at the distant mountains, a sense of foreboding filling him.

 

“Where is he?” Cassandra asked.

 

Cullen frowned. “I… don’t know,” he said honestly. “I don’t know. I think he’s… gone.”

 

“He should not have, apostate or no, we are indebted to him,” Cassandra shook her head. But Cullen suspected Solas’s reasons had nothing to do with that.

 

“So it’s over,” Vivienne drawled as she propped herself up with her staff. “How lovely.”

 

“The sky is healed,” Cole said. “Healthy… only that to remember this by…”

 

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exhaled and limped over to Cole, who was barely standing. He draped the boy’s unburnt arm over his shoulder. The he looked up, the breach still like a watching eye, auroras falling from it like dazzling rain. They had done it. Against all odds.

 

“What do we do now, Curly?” Varric asked.

 

“First, we get Morrigan. After that, we find Scout Harding, we send word back that we’re alive. Then, we go home,” Cullen replied. “All of us.”

 

++++

 

Cullen was impressed with his advisors. Once Harding sent out the bird, the injured party was led through the pass and past Haven, not a demon in sight. According to Harding, they had all vanished when the Breach was sealed. At the foot of the mountain, a platoon of Inquisition soldiers met them, their healer treating their injuries as best he could in the field. Cullen had cracked his skull, his leg was burnt, he’d broken two ribs and his shoulder was terribly sore. It was poorly set, apparently, and the healer had to pop it out to set it properly. Cullen bore it. Pain was a reminder that he was alive, though he wished his ‘reminders’ weren’t so enthusiastic. It hurt to move. Cassandra’s arm was broken. How she managed to fight through that pain was beyond Cullen. Morrigan had her head bound in bandages. Dorian, Bull, Blackwall and Cole suffered terrible burns, which the healer could only bandage up. They required magical healing. Sera had managed to escape with only a sprain, while Vivienne was purely fatigued. She slept and slept, even as she rode, utterly spent.

 

Slowly, they made their way back towards Skyhold. The following morning, another platoon met them, this one sent from the keep with a magical healer and a cart. They loaded the wounded onto the cart, Cullen included and they made the final leg of the journey to Skyhold with the mage healing the burns.

 

It was night when they crossed the bridge to Skyhold. Cullen could hear the cheers from the other side of the bridge. The whole keep was alight with torches, a glowing haven in the mountains. He smiled, faintly.

 

“What name would you like?” Cassandra asked beside him as she sat with her arm in a sling.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Hero of Ferelden is already taken. Hero of the South? Lion of Skyhold?”

 

Cullen chuckled and winced, holding his bandaged chest under his leathers. He wasn’t wearing any plate, not with the broken ribs. “Neither,” he said. “Cullen will suffice.”

 

“It won’t work that way,” Cassandra said. “You might as well think of a name before they give you one.”

 

Cullen smiled. “We’ll see.” He saw a figure in white and he moved to climb out of the wagon. “For now, Cullen will suffice.”

 

He hopped down as the Wagon stopped, the cheers resounding from the gathered crowd in the keep. Evelyn, Josephine and Leliana stood waiting. All as one, they bowed with respect, Josephine’s curtsy was elegant as Leliana and Evelyn bowed like gentlemen. The cheering swelled as Cullen stood there. Then Evelyn rose, her eyes wet with tears.

 

He came home. He suddenly couldn’t believe it. She ran forward and threw her arms around his neck. He grunted in pain but embraced her regardless as she held on to him. This was a forbidden future, a future that almost never was. Maker, what had he done to deserve this? She sniffed.

 

“Are you crying?” he asked her as she held him. She pulled back, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Because I am.”

 

She laughed and choked on her tears at the same time. Cullen bent to kiss her as the crowd cheered on. He didn’t care. For once, nothing else mattered but the moment they were in.

 

+++++

 

It was two days since the victory. Cullen had slept deeply. There were nightmares, but nightmares were so much a part of his life now. Still, the rest had been welcome. He didn’t hear Evelyn stir from his bed. He woke only when he was shaken by the healer. He sat and endured the magical healing, his ribs were recovering, but he still needed them bound. His leg burn was healed quickly. The leathers protected him from most of the damage. The wounds on his had were also quickly closed through magic. The only scar from his battle was a spidery burn mark on his calf. It could have been so much worse. He just wanted his ribs to heal and his shoulder to stop aching.

 

Once his healing was done for the day, he pulled his tunic on. There was music drifting in over the balcony. Cullen drifted over to the balcony as he laced up his tunic. People were setting up a pole in the courtyard, colourful streamers flowing from pole in the breeze. His eyes lit up. How long had it been since he’d done the Summersday’s Dance? To think he’d see a pole set up in his own keep. It wasn’t even summer, but for the celebration, the people of Skyhold were willing to brave the chill for a feast. He blinked. There was something atop the pole. He squinted to see it. It was round. He started to laugh when he realized what it was, then winced as his ribs twinged in protest. It was a carved head of Corypheus looking gormless. It was brilliant.

 

There were tents being set up as well, and Cullen could see what looked like a huge firepit being set up in the open area near the stocks. It was like a fair! He hoped there would be roast druffalo. He knew there would be ale. He could see Bull and his chargers bringing out tables from the Rest. Blackwall was there too, overseeing the Summersday’s Pole’s erection. Cullen suspected he was responsible for the head. Finally, a party worth having.

 

Cullen finished getting dressed, donning his shawl over his tunic, since he couldn’t wear his armour with his broken ribs. He wanted to see the celebration preparations outside - it was like his childhood at Honnleth!

 

He nearly ran into Josephine in the main hall. “Utterly unacceptable!” Josephine cried, waving her quill at a harried-looking servant. “I gave instructions for red table runners - who sent these? These are clearly maroon! Inquisitor!” she snapped.

 

Cullen froze in the midst of sneaking by. She glared at him. “It’s the ribs,” he said lamely and straightened up.

 

“Does this look like red to you?” she asked, holding the cloth out to him.

 

Cullen felt the weight of responsibility upon his shoulders, the servant looking at him with trepidation in his eyes, his very life hanging from Cullen’s words.

 

Cullen glanced at the servant. “It’s--”

 

“Clearly it is not!” Josephine snapped and gave it back to the servant. “Take it away! Immediately - red, if you please!”

 

Cullen took in the sight of the hall, abuzz with activity. Drapes were being changed and statues were being scrubbed. “Josie, what’s going on?” he asked.

 

“I thought it was obvious?” Josephine asked. “Is that tallow?” She suddenly barked. “Maker help you if you top the candle holders with tallow!”

 

“It’s beeswax, my lady,” the servant said meekly.

 

“Oh, good. It’s your victory party, Cullen,” she said to him then.

 

“I thought that was outside?”

 

“That’s the one everyone else is doing. This,” she waved her hand at the hall. “This will be for the nobles, where your place in history will be recorded. We have nobles coming from Orlais, Ferelden, Kirkwall, and Tevinter, if you count Dorian.”

 

“Oh.” A ball with nobles. Cullen had no heart to tell her that it sounded terribly boring.

 

“There will be a banquet. We have the finest petit fours from Orlais and sparkling wine from Antiva! At quite a good price. Everyone wants to do business with us. We’ll have a champagne fountain!”

 

“What’s that?” Cullen asked brightly.

 

“We arrange the glasses up in a tower and pour champagne down them. Then we raise a toast and make speeches!” Her eyes were alight with excitement.

 

It was good until speeches. “That’s amazing,” Cullen said.

 

“I hope you have your speech ready.”

 

“Oh, yes, working on it.” Cullen tried to hide the guilt from his face. He had tried to weasel his way out of it, but Josephine was adamant.

 

“Good. Now, excuse me. If I don’t keep an eye on things, Maker knows what they’ll do.”

 

Cullen smiled weakly and left her to her preparations, heading out the nearest door. The gardens were filled with flowers, even though it was still cold. Women sat in circles, some arranging flowers in vases, others making flower crowns. Cullen gaped. Morrigan sauntered over to him. “Inquisitor,” she purred. “Surprised by the blooms?”

 

“It’s not even spring yet,” Cullen said.

 

“Here, perhaps. These come from the lowlands of Ferelden and Orlais, so the ladies tell me.”

 

Cullen glanced at her and smiled then as he looked at her hair. “You seem to like them.”

 

She blinked and then reached up to pull the flower from her hair with a chuckle. “Kieran thought it amusing,” she explained.

 

“It’s pretty. Put it back. I should also thank you.”

 

“Yes, you should.”

 

Cullen laughed and winced. Damn. He held his ribs as he smiled. “Thank you, Lady Morrigan. Your battle with the dragon was legendary.”

 

She smiled. “Your business is done, Inquisitor, and I am pleased to have served. However, a few days hence, Kieran and I will take our leave.”

 

“So soon?” Cullen asked.

 

“Should you have forgotten, my mother is an ancient elven abomination who seeks to claim my son. As much as the hospitality in Skyhold has been most warm, we must depart.”

 

“I’m sorry to see you go,” Cullen sighed. “You are nice when you’re not pointing out how few syllables I use.”

 

She laughed her delightful chesty laugh. “I must admit, you have proven most fascinating to work with, Inquisitor. You are an oddity.”

 

“I know, my mother tried to wean me out of it, but the phase never passed. I’m guessing you won’t tell me where you’re going.”

 

“T’would be safer that way,” Morrigan  replied. “I do not trust the voices in your head. I will not make our departure known to you for obvious reasons. Nevertheless, consider this our formal farewell.”

 

“You will stay for the feast, at least,” Cullen said hopefully.

 

Morrigan smiled. “We’ll see,” she said, walking past him.

 

Cullen smiled as she left. That was something he had to prepare for. With Corypheus dead, he was sure his friends would soon move on. It was bittersweet. He couldn’t imagine the keep without them. Would he even stay here? Was he still Inquisitor? It wasn’t as if they needed him to kill anything else. Still, the Inquisition needed to continue its work. There were pieces of the world to pick up. They would need a new purpose now.

 

He was musing this as he walked when he saw the door to the Chantry open. Cullen wandered over. To his utter surprise, he saw Evelyn kneeling before the statue of Andraste, her voice low as she murmured. “...before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide,” she chanted. “I shall not be left to walk… walk? Wander? Blast- uh--”

 

“To wander the drifting roads of the beyond,” Cullen finished as he walked into the Chantry.

 

She gasped, startled and then sighed when she saw it was him. “I was just going to say that,” she smiled sheepishly. She moved to stand. Cullen stopped her, his hand on her shoulder. He knelt down beside her.

 

“We can sing the chant together,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

 

She stared at him in surprise, then her eyes softened as she nodded. She clasped her hand in prayer and their voices spoke in unison, singing the chant, giving thanks to the Maker. The words came from Cullen like an old familiar tune falling from his lips. Evelyn’s voice was beautiful, when she could remember the chant.

 

When they finished, they stood up. Evelyn brushed her knees. “I hope that’s enough,” she sighed.

 

“What did you pray for?” he asked curiously.

 

“For those we have lost,” she replied quietly. “And those I was so terrified to lose. But from the darkness you came back.” She smiled up at him, her eyes growing misty. She turned away and wiped her eyes. “Stupid pollen,” she said.

 

Cullen chuckled. He reached out and took her chin in his hand, turning her face to him. “I had good reason to,” he said softly, his hand on her cheek. “I found something beautiful in the world. I couldn’t let Corypheus destroy it.”

 

She teared up even more but tilted her head into his touch. “Sweet talker,” she chuckled. “I’m just glad I had luck on my side.”

 

He chuckled then. “Luck that brought me back?”

 

“No, luck that all my hints of my affection got through to you,” she said. “I was worried for a while.”

 

Cullen burst out laughing and then stopped. “Argh,” he winced, holding his rib. “I wasn’t that hopeless, was I?”

 

“You told me to eat dinner on my own,” she pointed out as she hugged him carefully around the waist.

 

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. “You make a fair point,” he conceded as he kissed her hair.

 

She pulled away and tiptoed to plant a light kiss on his lips. “Rest up. You have a lot of celebrations coming.” She touched his cheek. “I have to go help out. We’ve got Rylen coming in now that the blizzard’s apparently passed, that man is stubborn.”

 

“He usually is,” Cullen chuckled.

 

“Well, I’m happy to have worked with him. He taught me a great deal.” She grinned up at him. “See you later, love. Stay out of mischief.”

 

“Yes, pup,” he said with a smile.

 

“And stay away from Josephine. She’s terrifying right now,” she called her her shoulder as she left the Chantry.

 

He headed out through the garden. He was not expecting the shout from one of the women. “The Inquisitor!” He blinked and looked up, the women setting aside their flowers, rushing forward, his name called out, his shawl touched. He backed away, awkwardly spouting thanks to their shouted praises. “Bless us!” one cried. Cullen’s heart sank as the others took up the cry. He looked at them before him, the praise and adulation. “I--I can’t!” he said. “I am no Chantry Mother!”

 

“But you’re the Herald of Andraste!”

 

“It’s not--”

 

“Hush now, child,” said a voice. “This is unseemly. The Inquisitor is correct, he is no Chantry Mother. It is not his place to bless anyone.”

 

Cullen looked up into welcomed face of Mother Giselle. Her eyes sparkling in amusement. Cullen smiled gratefully. “Any words for the faithful, Inquisitor?” she asked him then.

 

Suddenly, Cullen wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or not. He looked at the women, their eyes on him, bright and eager. He swallowed, his throat dry, his cheeks on fire. “I-- Ju--” He fumbled. “I look forward to the feast?”

 

“Indeed,” Mother Giselle stepped in. “We have much to do for the feast, don’t we? Back to your flowers, allow the Herald his peace.”

 

Cullen stiffly turned from the crowd and headed into the sanctuary of the main hall. At least here, everyone was too busy being scared of Josephine to bother about him. He heard a chuckle behind him. “It might not have been a good idea to walk through a garden full of young ladies, Inquisitor,” Mother Giselle said.

 

“I was not expecting that,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Maker… this is ridiculous.”

 

“Were you truly not expecting that reaction?” Giselle asked.

 

“No!”

 

She laughed then. “Perhaps it is good that you do not hear confessions then,” she said warmly. “You have become a legend now, Inquisitor. Some ladies will certainly be enamoured.”

 

“I am very much taken,” Cullen said firmly.

 

“I’m sure that won’t matter, not to them.”

 

“Mother Giselle!” Cullen blushed harder.

 

“Oh, come how Herald, are you so innocent of the ways of a young woman’s heart?”

 

“No, just slightly shocked that a Chantry Mother is pointing that out to me.”

 

Her eyes twinkled. “We were all young once, even I. My heart did not always point to the Maker and Andraste’s wisdom. Sometimes it beckoned… elsewhere, in the dark nights.”

 

“Maker’s breath!”

 

Giselle laughed even harder. “Your cheeks are so red,” she noted as she pat him on the cheek. Cullen stood there with his face boiling, his mind hiding from the thought of Mother Giselle in dark nights - he did not want to know what she meant, even if she was probably teasing. “I will have a word with the ladies about their behaviour, worry not, Herald. Enjoy your day and the feasts tonight. You have earned it.”

 

He nodded stiffly and left. He strode to the rookery. Even Varric has fled the main hall, his table empty. Cullen stepped into the rotunda for the first time since he returned to Skyhold.

 

He stared at the empty rotunda. It was strange not seeing Solas there. He stood in the quiet, his eyes drawn to the walls. The murals spanned across most of the rotunda wall. There, Cullen saw the rise of the Inquisition, the fall of Haven, the Templars who had allied with them. He saw the masked Orlesians of Halamshiral, the eyes of the nightmare demon, the elves of the Temple of Mythal. This was his record. This was everything he did. Cullen felt foolish for not seeing it until now. He walked to the unfinished part of the wall and touched the bare plaster. Paint was brushed quickly on it in a sketch for what was to be the final mural. It looked like a dragon’s head, bowed at someone’s foot. His foot. Now it would never be finished. Why would Solas leave?

 

He closed his eyes and sought the voices, but on this, they were silent. Cullen opened his eyes. That was a strange thing. There was something he was not being told, and only one person could still the voices in his head.

 

His eyes narrowed. Flemeth was not telling him something.

 

He saw Leliana descending from the stairs to the rookery. “Cullen,” she smiled. “How are you feeling?”

 

“The people are scaring me more than the injuries,” Cullen said wrily. “How goes our search for Solas?”

 

“My agents report that he is nowhere to be found.”

 

Cullen sighed. “As I expected,” he said. “He knows how we work, it would make it easier for him to evade your agents.”

 

“If he does not wish to be found, there’s likely nothing we can do. But I will keep looking.”

 

“That will set my mind at ease,” Cullen admitted.

 

“There is also news from Val Royeaux,” she went on. “I thought I should come to you first before I told the others?”

 

“Oh?”

 

“They have chosen a new Divine, even without your involvement.”

 

“As it should be,” Cullen said firmly. He sighed. He knew who the prime candidates were. More news of friends leaving. “Who have they chosen?”

 

Leliana smiled at him.

 

Cullen stared at her and laughed, then regretted it instantly. “Maker, congratulations, your holiness,” he said, holding his ribs. “I should point out that the Chantry has selected the perfect person to lead her.”

 

“Thank you, Cullen!” she said in surprise. “This will be a chance to change for the better, improve the lot of mages, improve the templars, do good for the world, as the Maker intended.”

 

Cullen’s eyes were wistful. So Leliana would leave them. “I know you’ll be able to do it with all the grace and subtlety that you always employ,” he said. “Things will be very different with you in charge. I am… When will you leave?”

 

“The Coronation isn’t till summer,” she said. “I will be around for a while yet.”

 

He sighed.

 

“Do not despair, Cullen. We will only be a letter apart. I have also begun training my agents to take over my role. You won’t miss me.”

 

“Ah, I think I will.”

 

“You are sentimental.”

 

“Perhaps.” He glanced up at the wall. “I’m not sure what the future will bring. Whatever you require of the Inquisition, you know you only need ask.”

 

Leliana’s smile was warm. “Thank you, Cullen.” She adjusted her glove. “Have you prepared your speech?”

 

He glanced aside. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted.

 

“If you’ve thought about it enough, you may want to approach Varric. He’s in the rest. He can help you write something up.”

 

“That’s actually a good idea, why didn’t I think of that?”

 

“Because you were hoping Josephine would perhaps forget about it or you could somehow escape needing to give a speech?”

 

“Such wisdom from our future Divine,” Cullen smiled. “I’d better go find Varric then. Not making an absolute fool of myself in front of all the nobles might be a good idea.”

 

Leliana laughed and waved him away. Cullen turned from her, his eyes lingering on the unfinished mural. What would the future bring? Cullen had no idea, but perhaps like the mural, he had some idea. All that was left was for him to fill in the details. He was alive, the people he loved were alive. He stepped out of the main hall into the sunlight on his skin, the music from the courtyard drifted up to him. He smiled and drew a deep breath of the cool air as laughter from the courtyard was borne aloft by the breeze that tugged at the furs of his shawl, making the cloth flutter around him.  

 

He looked up at the sky, the lions on the battlements roaring their defiance, roaring their victory at the swirling scar of the Breach. He recalled his discussion with Cassandra and chuckled.

 

The Lion of Skyhold did not sound like such a bad title.

 

++++

 

The ball was a bore indeed. Dressed in his formal uniform, Cullen endured it as noble after noble raised a toast to the Inquisition. He had made his speech, hastily written and memorized with Varric’s help at the start of the meal. He thought that was the end of it. He couldn’t be more wrong. Everyone wanted to make a speech at the banquet table, it seemed. Once the meal was served, which Cullen made a note to commend Josephine for later, he found it hard to keep him awake through the speeches. Evelyn helped. He held his glass of wine as the speaker droned on. As Cullen’s eyelids drooped and his head started to nod, he felt a small hand snake under his arm and poke him in the bruised ribs. He bit back a grunt of pain and shot Evelyn a dark glance. She ignored him. “And so, to the Inquisitor!” the speaker mercifully ended. Cullen’s smile was pained. He raised his cup and took a sip of his wine. 

 

Dorian looked at him in amusement. The others had gathered at the table, with the exception of Sera. She was outside at the feast in the courtyard. Cullen envied her. Josephine stood then. “My lords and ladies,” she said, her voice ringing. “Now that the meal is over, might I invite you the soiree in the garden?”

 

This was where he ran. Cullen set aside his napkin and stood. If he hurried he could make it to the door-- 

 

“My Lord Inquisitor,” a voice drawled in his ear. Cullen sighed inwardly. There was no mercy, no mercy in the world. He smiled at the noble as he stepped away from the chair, caught up in the conversation. He nodded politely, thanked the noble for his praise. The other nobles were heading out to the gardens, quite a few of them eyeing him, no doubt rehearsing their speeches in their head for when they accosted him later. Endure. Endure. Then he saw the main hall doors open and a few of his companions leave. Blackwall and Bull and Dorian walked out, followed by Varric and Cole. Cullen put on a polite smile and silently bemoaned the injustice of the world. 

 

He finally extracted himself from the noble and made his way to the garden. Josephine had done so much to prepare for the banquet, he couldn’t just leave. Another comtesse or something approached him the moment he stepped through the garden doors, and he endured another round of praise. Maker preserve him.

 

He had no idea how long this went on. It felt like forever. Everyone wanted to talk to him. It was what felt like ages later than he managed to sneak away to an alcove in the garden, glass of sherry in hand. He wasn’t hiding. He was just taking a moment to himself. He could hear the sounds of the feast downstairs, music and laughter. Here, it was all delicate bard tunes and painful conversation. Nobles truly did not know how to enjoy themselves. A hand slipped into his. Cullen glanced at Evelyn and smiled wearily. 

 

“Not enjoying your party, Inquisitor?” she asked, sipping from a brandy glass. 

 

“Oh, I am,” he lied. 

 

“Really? Is that why you’re hiding?”

 

“I am not hiding! I am just taking a moment.” He glanced at her, her blue eyes twinkling. He sighed. “You’d think I’d get better at dealing with nobles, but they just make my hair ache. Now that we’ve won, everyone wants to speak to me. Before, few would even give me the time of day.”

 

“It’s the burden of office you must bear, love,” she smiled. “Give it a while. An hour or so more and you can politely excuse yourself from the party here. Then you can go downstairs to play.”

 

He smiled gratefully. “You’re right. You should come with me.”

 

“Now, there, I’d be totally out of place,” she laughed. “Maybe not.”

 

“That’s an order, Commander.”

 

“I’m your lover, you can’t order me around.”

 

He chuckled and winced. “You’ve been prodding me in the ribs all night, you owe me.”

 

“You were snoring, Cullen. I think the Viscount Lafayette heard you,” she frowned. 

 

They looked up at the sound of voices. Josephine and Leliana were walking up the quiet hallway. “I should never have hired caterers so late,” Josephine was fretting. 

 

“Leave it alone, Josie, everything’s fine!” Leliana smiled. 

 

“It is not!” Josephine turned to Cullen. “I am so sorry, Cullen, nothing is as it should be.”

 

“It’s really fine, Josephine,” he said. 

 

“Are you enjoying the refreshments?” Leliana asked. “Josephine sent all the way from the capital for the petit fours.”

 

“The little cakes?” he asked. “I actually did. They were a sweet.”

 

“Deathroot and star anise,” Leliana tittered. “They taste of despair.”

 

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Orlesians,” he muttered. 

 

Leliana laughed. “I know. Ah, Orlais… Why did we save her again?”

 

“For the little cakes, apparently.”

 

“And the drinks?” Josephine asked worriedly. “I’m not to sure about them.”

 

“Other than the sherry being a little dry,” Cullen said and Evelyn kicked him in the foot. “Uh.”

 

“You’re joking, right?” Josephine glared at him. Cullen thought he saw her eyelid twitch. “Please tell me you’re joking!” 

 

“Of course I am, it’s a lovely evening Josephine,” Cullen assured her quickly. 

 

“I hope you are not just saying that,” Josephine sighed in frustration. “The sommelier was late, the invitations to our guests barely went out in time and… and…” She stopped and chuckled. “It was so wonderful to prepare for a small banquet instead of the end of the world.”

 

“I’m glad you’re smiling,” Leliana said. 

 

Josephine waved her hand to the gathered nobles. “Do you know what everyone is talking about tonight, Cullen, from commoners to kings? Us. Thedas is discussing the success of the Inquisition.”

 

“You played no small part yourself,” Cullen said. “All of you. I could not have done this alone. Halamshiral alone would have doomed us.”

 

“Yes,” they all nodded. Cullen was slightly hurt by that. 

 

Josephine smiled wistfully. “Truly, we will never forget those we lost but… for tonight,” she raised her glass. “To victory.”

 

Cullen was pleased for that, at least. Their glasses clinked. “To victory.”

 

It was indeed an hour later when Cullen had exhausted all conversation with the nobles that he was able to slip away from the main crowd. With a breath of relief, he stepped into the silent main hall. He shut the door to the garden and started when he saw Evelyn waiting behind the door, leaning on the wall. “Fleeing the battlefield, Inquisitor?” she asked, her eyes impish. 

 

“A tactical withdrawal,” he said.

 

“I see, where to?”

 

He took her hand in his and led her to the doors of the main hall. “Have you ever danced he Summersday dance? Eaten whole druffalo roasted over an open fire? Drunk yourself blind while dancing the Swiller’s Remigold?”

 

She blinked in puzzlement as he pulled her along. “No, that’s what commoners do--” She bit her lip. 

 

Cullen smiled and kissed her in the main hall, the light of the moon lancing down through the stained glass behind the throne. “Exactly,” he said as he held her face. “That’s something you should get used to when you’re with me. I’m as common as muck.”

 

She smiled up at him. “Hardly that,” she said. “But… I’ll dance if you’ll teach me.”

 

His smile was warm. “I’ll teach you,” he said. They could move on. He wanted her in his life. And it would start, just as their relationship did, with dancing. He pushed the doors open to the keep outside, losing themselves at last to the music and firelight and the rest of their lives. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It isn't over yet. I want a wedding damn it!


	45. Letters - Trespasser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loading Trespasser.exe

The Inquisition was like a lion, Cullen mused as he stood hunched over the war table littered with papers and missives and maps, illuminated by the summer sun that lanced through the windows of the War Chamber. The War Chamber. Few called it that now. Most called it the Inquisitor’s office. The amount of paperwork since the defeat of Corypheus two years ago had only grown. It was… not all that surprising. He picked up the latest missive from the seneschal of Ferelden - Arl Teagan. Another angry letter. Another complaint of Venatori saboteurs in Denerim, another complaint of Inquisition agents instigating confrontations, putting the lives of the people at risk. Cullen sighed. “What am I supposed to do?” Cullen grumbled at the letter. “Let them burn down your granaries? Idiot.”

 

He tossed the letter away and picked up another. More complaints, this time asking for the Inquisition’s intervention in some bannorn dispute. Cullen didn’t even finish reading the letter before crumpling it and dropping it onto the floor. That was Alistair’s problem, not his. Let them take it up with Teagan, since the man loved poking his large nose into things. Cullen had met them both before, Alistair and Teagan. While Alistair was apologetic for how Ferelden and the Inquisition sometimes butted heads, both Cullen and he knew that it was inevitable. It was just Teagan. Cullen couldn’t stand the man.

 

The next was a pointed letter from a Viscount in Orlais, saying that townships were threatened by darkspawn and demanding the Inquisition send Gray Wardens to their aid, highlighting the fact that being allied with the Wardens made the Inquisition accountable to deal with the darkspawn. Cullen would have sent help, there was no need for this political arm twisting.

 

There were dozens of letters every day, all addressed to him. It took him hours to get through them. Complaints were aplenty, coming from Ferelden and Orlais both. Some complained about Inquisition agent interference, others about internal disputes that they were convinced only Cullen could solve. He picked up a letter from Orlais, perfumed and gold-trimmed. He opened it and glowered at the rose-smelling letter within before tossing it into the coals of a brazier, where it caught fire. Then there were the marriage proposals. Every one of which he burned. Maker, this was ridiculous. They did not need him to settle everything in the south of Thedas, but here they were, bringing the Inquisition everything to deal with while the monarchs shrugged helplessly.

 

No, the Inquisition was like riding a lion. It ran, bolder, faster, and you daren’t get off lest it devour you. That was how the world saw them now. Something to be steered, something to be feared. He thought things would quieten down after Corypheus. They didn’t. They just got more complicated. Darkspawn magisters and dragons were easy. There was the evil thing trying to kill and or roast you. It was _straightforward_ , and neither of them were inclined to plague him with letters.

 

The one blessing in all this was the fact that the Chantry was kept relatively at bay, held off from interfering with the Inquisition thanks to Leliana, or Divine Victoria as she was known as now. They hadn’t met since she became Divine, but they did exchange letters. Those were pleasant, at least. In fact, most of those who fought with him against Corypheus had long since left Skyhold. Blackwall, after a month or so, departed to continue his redemption elsewhere in the world. Cullen secretly wished him all the best, even if their relationship was still strained when they parted. Cassandra was off rebuilding the Seekers. They kept close in touch at least.

 

Dorian had returned to Tevinter, and presumably his father, Lord Pavus. Sera too had departed to Orlais to wreak havoc amongst the nobles, which Cullen wholly approved of. Bull and his Chargers had left, Lady Vivienne too, taking her role as Grand Enchanter after Fiona. Perhaps surprisingly, the one absence he felt most keenly was Varric, who had returned to Kirkwall. Cullen sighed. Even Cole, dear Cole, had gone, travelling with Maryden.

 

The keep was quiet now. Full of nobles whom Cullen avoided. He sighed and picked up the next letter, another invitation for an introduction to a young woman of station. He winced as he read it, turning his aching left arm. Either the cold was getting to him or...

 

The door opened then. Evelyn walked in, wearing the bands around her chest which meant she had a good workout at drills. “Hello, pup,” he said, glancing at her with a pained smile.

 

“I thought you were coming to drills,” she said, walking over to kiss his cheek.

 

“I was, I just got caught up here, I’m sorry,” he said apologetically.

 

She moved him to sit down and stood behind his chair. She drew her fingers across his brow, smoothing the furrows of his frown. “You’re going to get a permanent frown if you keep that up,” she said gently.

 

“It’s not my fault,” he sighed, leaning back to rest his head on her chest. He looked up at her as she smiled down at him. Two years. That was longer than Cullen had ever been together with anyone romantically. He loved her. She loved him, he knew. Which was odd, because he was just a grumpy fellow, often too busy to spend time with her as he should. But here she was. He wanted her to stay with him forever.

 

Her fingers touched his temples. He shut his eyes as she massaged his head, gentle movements chasing the tension away. “More love letters?” she asked.

 

He grunted, his head still resting on her chest. “Could you just reach out and drop this on the brazier, pup?” He held up the letter to her.

 

She took it. “Cullen! This is from Celene!” she exclaimed.

 

He looked up at her. “So?”

 

“You can’t burn a letter from the Empress! Even if it is an introduction!”

 

He took the letter from her fingers and reached out to set it on the brazier himself.

 

“Love,” she sighed as flames licked the paper. “You need to reply to her.”

 

“No.”

 

She looked down at him. “But it’s Celene!”

 

“I’ve burned six already. She hasn’t sent an army in retaliation. I never reply to any marriage proposals. It’s ridiculous.” Evelyn shook her head. “They are not going to stop sending those stupid things. Why waste time?” He picked up another envelope and a dagger from the table, slitting the envelope open.

 

Her arms wrapped around his neck from behind. “You could at least let me read them,” her voice purred by his ear. “I could gloat about it a bit.”

 

He chuckled. “Maker’s breath.”

 

“I am a simple woman with simple pleasures,” she said, her fingers moving the fur of his shawl from his neck and dropping a kiss onto his skin. “And I’m the one that got you.”

 

“Mm,” he murmured, her lips trailing to his ear. She got him indeed. She kissed his earlobe. “I really have to work, pup.” Her tongue caressed the shell of his ear, flicking the lobe, her breath caressing his skin. He couldn’t focus on the words of the letter, his head turning towards her skillful tongue in pleasure. “Pup…”

 

“Let me distract you a little, love,” she purred. “You frown too much.”

 

He smiled faintly, then quivered slightly when she tugged at his lobe lightly, one of her hands reaching down under the table. He drew a breath and caught her hand. She stopped tonguing his ear. Ask her, his mind screamed. He knew what he wanted, but all the words escaped him. But he had a plan. “Pup,” he said, his mouth oddly dry. At least ask her to the lake again, that was not hard, was it?

 

“I know,” she said, straightening up before he could say another word. “You’re busy.” She pulled her hands off him, her eyes a little tight.

 

He looked up at her. “What?”

 

She sat down at her chair then. “You’re busy. Like you were two nights ago, and the week before,” she pulled her stack of papers towards her and started to read. “I understand, love.”

 

He stared at her. He frowned when he realized she was right. They shared a bed but it had been weeks since… All the more, he had to ask her. “That’s-- that’s not what I was going to say,” he fumbled. “I was-- I mean-” The words vanished. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“It’s alright, love,” she assured him. “I’m not upset.” Cullen saw her glancing away as she spoke. She was lying. But she didn’t look at him anymore as she read her reports.

 

He grit his teeth and gave up. He glowered at the letter, his eyes hovering over the words. This was daft. Why was this so hard? He just had to get her to the lake!

 

There was a knock on the door then, Josephine opening it to enter. “Cullen, we have received news from the chantry,” she said urgently. “It’s important, we should address this immediately.”

 

“What is it?” he asked, a little grateful for the interference.

 

“Divine Victoria has called for an Exalted Council,” Josephine said, handing him the letter. “It will decide the fate of the Inquisition. This was requested by Ferelden and Orlais.”

 

Cullen stood and took it, reading it. It was requested by Ferelden and Orlais. Maker’s breath, what was the meaning of this? The Venatori were still a threat, the Inquisition had purpose! And yet now, after saving them, they deigned to call for a council to ‘determine the future of the Inquisition’? And the Council was to be chaired by the Divine herself! Leliana! What bloody right did they have!

 

“Cullen!” Evelyn’s voice intruded sharply in his mind.

 

“What?” Cullen snapped.

 

“You’re swearing.”

 

“I was?” he said.

 

“Very loudly,” Josephine added.

 

Cullen got a grip on himself. “Right,” he said. “Why do we have to pay attention to this? This is ridiculous! Leliana’s kept them from bothering us for years.”

 

“At increasing political cost,” Josephine said seriously. “It has become inescapable now. The Inquisition is the second largest army in the south, behind Orlais. Yet it answers to neither crown nor Chantry. While King Alistair has been accommodating in letting us operate within his borders, we cannot assume this will last indefinitely. Of course, the Inquisition’s future needs to be discussed.”

 

“How about we remind Celene exactly who kept her on the throne?” Cullen said acidly.

 

“Celene won’t be attending,” Josephine said. “Duke Cyril will represent the Orlesian Empire. His name is on the letter.”

 

“So it is. Right here, next to another name I’m delighted to see. And this is where we send Alistair a strongly worded letter that he can tell Teagan to stick his ambassadorship right up his--”

 

He stopped, seeing the both of them glaring at him. He drew a deep breath. “Forgive me,” he said, his expression pained. “I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“Lets sit down and talk about this then, shall we?” Evelyn asked. “I have a feeling we’re going to be very busy over the next few weeks.”

 

+++++

 

On parchment, in a scrawled hand, the letters read,

 

_Varric,_

_I’m sure you’ve heard of the Exalted Council. Are you coming?_

_C_

 

_Bull,_

_The Inquisition has been summoned to the Exalted Council. Bring the Chargers. Security detail, good pay, wine paid for by Orlais. We should catch up._

_C_

 

_Blackwall,_

_Are you well? It has been a long time. If you are near Halamshiral this summer, the Inquisition will be there for the Exalted Council. Come by, if you can._

_C_

 

_Sera,_

_I’m not sure if this message will even meet you. We’ll be in Halamshiral this summer. Come by._

_Cullen_

 

_Cole,_

_I hope this letter finds its way to you. The Inquisition is going to Halamshiral this summer. I can’t remember if you were there. It has been a while. Come meet us. Give my regards to Maryden. I miss her songs._

_Cullen_

 

_Cass,_

_The Inquisition has been summoned to the Exalted Council. This is ridiculous. Also unavoidable. Leliana tried her best. If you can take time away from the Seekers, come to Halamshiral. I don’t know what may happen at the Council. We may need you there._ _~~Also, I lo I thoug I want to make things perma How should I ask~~ _ _Forget it. Talk to you when I see you._

_C_

  
  


_Curly,_

_I heard about the Council. I guess it’s expected. The Inquisition has become big enough to become a problem. I’ll see you in Halamshiral. I’m getting tired of fending off the Merchant’s Guild anyway. I could do with a break. Hawke is coming, of course. I’m guessing the Seeker will be there too? Don’t worry about the future, Curly. Even if they kick you out of Skyhold, you know we’ve got you covered._

_Varric_

  
  


_Cullen,_

_I’d be happy to meet you in Halamshiral. There are rumours of the motives of the Council here in Orlais. Hopefully, the nobles won’t do too much damage to the Inquisition’s good works. Till we meet, friend._

_Blackwall_

  
  


_Cullen,_

_We’ll send the bill to Josie as always. Is Eve pregnant yet? Get on with it._

_Bull_

 

_Maker’s breath, Bull. There are protocols to follow before getting a woman pregnant._

_C_

 

_Cullen,_

_Protocols, right. It’s called foreplay. Nice, easy, maybe a bit of wine to get relaxed. Silk ribbons might work - get broad ones. They double up as blindfolds and binds that way. Hips up works best so keep things nice and Fereldan and do it doggy style. I think there are herbs both of you can take, but I need to ask on that. I’ll let you know what those are in Halamshiral. Always happy to give tips if you need any._

_Bull_

 

_On second thought, don’t come._

_C_

 

_That’s your problem, right there, Cullen. I’ll bring you some toys. And herbs._

_Bull_

 

_No._

_C_

  


_Cullen,_

_I heard about the Council. I will be there. Hawke tells me he is coming by as well. I have sent word to Cole and Maryden, they passed through a few days ago. If you sent a letter, they did not receive it. What are you on about in your letter at the end? We’ll discuss it when we meet. The Seekers can endure without me for a few weeks, I think. Great change is coming. I cannot help but feel that nothing will be the same after the Council. Take strength, my friend. Maker be with you._

_Cassandra Pentaghast_

  


_+++++_

  


So everyone was coming, with the exception of Sera. Dorian was slated to be an ambassador from Tevinter, Vivienne would certainly be present. Cullen set down the letter from Cassandra after reading it again, her words weighing heavy on his mind. Everything would be different once the Council was over. Cullen had no idea what would come, but at least now, he had certainty in his life. He was free of lyrium, free of the Templars, charting his own course, in control. Even if control of the Inquisition was taken from him, he knew he had options now. The Templars had always given him a sense of purpose, but never choice. He had choice and purpose both now, and she was asleep in the tub in the middle of the room.

 

Cullen smiled faintly as he slipped the letter into the leather folio and chucked it into the open chest near his desk, the folio landing atop his packed clothes. He also reached out across his desk to take a far thicker folder full of scraps of parchment and scribblings, bound closed with leather thongs. These were all his writings, for what they were worth. Elvish stories, histories, ramblings the voices cried out in his dreams, stories of Mythal… there were many of them. Mythal and her children. Whether they were eventually published or not, Cullen had not decided. He hadn’t Varric’s flair with words. He threw the thick folio into his chest and shut the lid.

 

He walked over to Evelyn, his loose tunic and breeches hanging from his body. She was free of lyrium now, her fits and cravings gone. She was talking about helping other Templars too. It was a project she worked on in addition to her duties as Commander. She wanted to call it the White Arbour. A place in the country where Templars could go to be freed of lyrium, or live their last days in peace, being cared for till the Maker took them. He leaned his hands on the edge of the tub, golden firelight dancing across the water, making her damp skin glow. She could do it. Cullen was free of lyrium, but had been sustained by the mark. Evelyn had done it on her own. Others would follow in her footsteps. He would help her, the idea of the White Arbour sounded wonderful.

 

He shook her shoulder and she blinked awake. “Ugh,” she said, straightening up.

 

“I know, you’re tired,” he said gently, handing her a towel. “Dry off, pup. We have a lot to do in the morning when we leave.”

 

She stood up, water cascading from her body. Still bleary, she wrapped the towel around her chest. Then she walked to the bed, sat down, lay down on her side and shut her eyes. Her cat moved off her pillow and onto Cullen’s, its Templar coat askew. She now called it Stanton despite the fact that it was female. At least it was better than Nyanquisitor. She overfed her cat as well, and she was now somewhat rotund. It got to the point where Stanton had resorted to leaving dead mice around instead of eating them, even leaving one in Cullen’s boot once.

 

Cullen walked over and shook Evelyn’s shoulder as Stanton watched on, her legs folded under her. “Pup, dry off, you’ll fall ill,” he said.

 

“In a minute, love,” she murmured into her pillow. There were dark circles under her eyes. She had been working herself ragged, they all had. The Council was far more trouble than it was worth. But it was something he would have to endure. He took another towel and dried her limbs as best he could. She did not even stir. She was going to be annoyed about her hair in the morning. Sleeping with damp hair always made her curls bend in strange angles. She’d complain that he should have woken her. Cullen honestly did not mind the out of place curls. He would rather she just sleep than worry about her hair. He did try to dry her hair, but he was probably doing a poor job of it. She had a ritual with towels and herb tonics. While he appreciated the importance of taking care of one’s hair, he felt that Evelyn sort of took it to the extreme. Surely one didn’t need three different tonics for the hair, did they?

 

He pulled the duvet over her body at last and climbed into bed beside her, shooing Stanton away. The cat mewled at him and settled on the foot of the bed. Cullen has no doubt he would awake to it licking his nose again, the silly thing. He draped his arm over her damp body, the smell of her wet hair and skin was heavy with lavender. She found the fragrance to her liking since the lake, she had told him. That thought brought a pang of guilt. He knew he wasn’t putting in effort like he used to. They had become so comfortable together. So comfortable that they even... wrangled. Sometimes, over silly things - clothes left on the footboard of the bed, the annoyance of the sound of a whetstone on a sword blade when he was trying to read, his habit of arguing with books out loud. According to Mia, this was a good thing, but Cullen couldn’t fathom for the life of him why it was.

 

He had thought to have a getaway with her. Spend time with her with no Inquisition to demand their attention. She was his choice, and he chose her every day. If he could get the right opportunity to ask her, he would ask if she would choose him back. Permanently, sort of - or more formally, at any rate. He was sure she wouldn’t say no. He just needed the right time when they weren’t surrounded by work. That was the difficulty, since both of them were so occupied with their duties. But every time he tried to ask her to the lake, something came up, or they were wrangling with each other, or both. Now, there would be no chance to bring her to the lake, not for a long while. So much for his plan. He needed a new plan.

 

Pain lanced up his arm then. He winced and pulled it off Evelyn, the mark flaring. He shook it out and the green fire flickered away. He watched Evelyn guiltily, afraid the mark had woken her. But she slept on. He lay back down and stared at his hand in the firelight. The mark had always been a faint white scar, like a stain on his skin. It glowed faintly from within now, the glow spreading into the veins in his palm. He turned his hand over. The glowing veins had spread there too now. All the rifts he’d closed, all the demons he’d fought… The mark was spreading. It ached sometimes, and sudden pains would make it flare. Cullen wasn’t sure if the flaring caused the pain or if the pain caused the flaring.

 

The voices had been… helpful on this at least. The mark was consuming him, they warned. He was no mage, and its magic was drawing from his very being, even as the magic coursing in him had numbed the lyrium withdrawals years ago. The more he used the mark, the more it would take until it sapped him dry. He just had to make sure he didn’t use it unless he had to. It was fine. He licked his lips and turned onto his other side, his back to Evelyn, his marked hand safely under his pillow in case it sparked on its own. She didn’t need to know. He had it under control. Everything was fine.

 

They would leave for Halamshiral in the morning. They would deal with the Council. And whatever future would come, Cullen would just accept it. Let it be the Maker’s will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go now.


	46. Halamshiral Once More - Trespasser

The palace of Halamshiral was glittering in the morning sunlight. The blue walls of the palace put the sky to shame, the gold of the rearing lions and glittering filigree cast the sunlight back to the sky in typical Orlesian arrogance. Along the path to the palace, the Inquisition soldiers lined the way, their armour burnished, their pennants fluttering in the wind. Evelyn had gone above and beyond for the parade, each contingent bearing a pennant that reminded of the Inquisition’s victories - the fist of Adamant, the glittering golden lion of Halamshiral, Corypheus’s orb lancing to the sky and the mark upon a hand. They still called him the Herald of Andraste. 

 

Cullen rode ahead of the honour guard marching in step behind him. His horse was brought in by Evelyn, a breed of horse that her house was known for. Magnificently built with a long, flowing ash blonde mane and tail, hooves feathered, chest massive and stocky, muscles powerfully bunching under the armour. Cullen was amazed at the quality of the horse. Evelyn had said it was the only one outside of Ostwick. Donned in his formal uniform, his sword of office at his hip, he knew he struck an imposing figure upon the massive horse. Cullen could see the nobles watching him from atop the elevated garden paths that overlooked the parade. A rose fell before his horse. Cullen controlled his scowl, forcing down the blush. Here they went. The stupid flowers, the stupid tokens of ribbons and handkerchiefs thrown by Orlesian nobles. 

 

“It’s starting to rain,” Evelyn said behind him as she rode next to Josephine. Cullen said nothing, glowering ahead, ignoring the falling flowers and tokens. 

 

Josephine tittered. “I must say, he’s not the only one,” she said. Cullen glanced up at the walkway. There were noble gentlemen too, and Cullen knew they were not looking at him. His scowl deepened despite his best effort. He also saw a familiar face, the glowering mug of Arl Teagan. Cullen met his eyes and then turned back to the path.

 

In the gates of Halamshiral, the Divine stood on on a dais with Mother Giselle beside her, two Seekers flanking them as guards. Behind them were ranks of Seekers in dark armour, the eyes on their tabards gazing out at the approaching party. Cassandra was truly working to rebuild the Seekers. Leliana smiled at them, her eyes glad. She stood far more imposing than before, wearing the robes of the Divine, carrying the golden mitre with the figure of Andraste glittering in the sun. Cullen, Evelyn and Josephine dismounted at the gate and proceeded before the dais. Cullen genuflected before Leliana, Josephine and Evelyn doing the same.  

 

Leliana stretched out her hand over them as she spoke in benediction, her voice ringing with authority through the ages. “Welcome, Inquisitor,” Leliana said as Cullen rose to his feet. “We hope you will find Halamshiral pleasant, this time.”

 

Cullen caught the snort just as it came, her eyes impish as she looked at him. He settled for a bow. “Thank you, your holiness,” he said simply. 

 

She gestured for him to follow her and they walked off, signalling the end of the parade. Evelyn and Josephine did not move to follow. “You’re looking taller, your holiness,” Cullen said as they entered the doors of an antechamber, music from a lutist pouring out from within. A spread was laid before them in the drawing room. 

 

Leliana chuckled. “Really? It must be the hat,” she said as Mother Giselle shut the door behind them. A servant brought them drinks. Cullen took a glass, but Leliana waved hers away. 

 

“Also the very elaborate shoes,” Cullen pointed out.

 

“I’m pleased you noticed!” Leliana beamed. “Now I must leave you. I need to address Arl Teagan’s concerns before the council. I will speak to you later? I leave you to Mother Giselle.”

 

“Of course.”

 

She took her leave. Cullen turned to Mother Giselle, who smiled at him. “Divine Victoria has proven herself to be one few dare to disagree with,” she said warmly. “She has already won concessions for the Inquisition. You are fortunate to have her support.”

 

“We are indeed,” Cullen agreed. “And how have you been, Mother Giselle? Hopefully scandalizing the gentlemen less here than you did me in Skyhold.”

 

She chuckled at that. “Naturally. You were a bit of a special case.”

 

“Was I?”

 

“Few are as amusing or indulgent as you, Inquisitor. You made it quite entertaining.”

 

Cullen laughed and shook his head in resignation. “I’m happy to have provided entertainment,” he said brightly and sipped the drink. It was a refreshing cider. There were perks to being Inquisitor. “Have you been keeping busy?” 

 

“I spent the last summer in Emprise du Lion, distributing food sent from the Exalted Plains,” she said. “The Dales are finally recovering.”

 

“You’ve been on the move more than I ever was since Corypheus fell,” Cullen said. 

 

“It keeps me out of trouble, your worship. I should mention that your forces at Suledin Keep were most helpful. Please send my regards to Baron Dejardins.”

 

“I shall, Mother.”

 

“Duke Cyril will greet you on behalf of Orlais. I believe he is currently speaking to the Tevinter Ambassador, your friend, Lord Pavus.”

 

“Ah. I hope… you and he…”

 

“Indeed,” she smiled knowingly. “I misjudged the young man before. I will remember to apologise to him - publically. I think he would like that.”

 

Cullen chuckled and stopped himself. “Forgive me,” he said. “You’re right. He would like that. You know him well, for as much as you didn’t get along with him.”

 

“Your other friends have returned as well. I believe they are waiting for you. Many are eager to see you, and we do have much revelry planned before the Summit in three days time, as is the Orlesian way.”

 

“More balls?” He took a sip of his cider. 

 

“It is always balls,” Mother Giselle said primly as she adjusted the sleeve of her robe. “Orlesians love balls. They hold balls all the time for any reason they can - large balls, intimate balls, all sorts, as I’m sure the Fereldans like to jest.”

 

Cullen was coughing, choking on his drink. 

 

Giselle laughed, covering her mouth with her fingers. “Was it something I said?”

 

“That ball joke was beneath you, Mother Giselle,” Cullen chided, his cheeks tinged.

 

She laughed even more. “I haven’t a clue what you mean, Inquisitor. I will leave you to the garden then. No doubt you would want to see to your forces settling in. You have brought along so many people.”

 

“We are not as small as we once were, Mother.”

 

When she departed, Cullen took a look at the spread of delicate cakes spread out on the table. He helped himself to one. Then another. Some cakes had golden bits on them - so typically Orlesian. He ate five. Then he went off in search of his companions. 

 

The crowd outside had vanished now that the parade was over. Standing by the fountain, Cullen saw a welcomed sight. He grinned and descended the curving staircase. Varric stood with a man in austere garb with a pained expression. Cullen recognized the man. Bran Cavin, who served as provisional Viscount of Kirkwall. Now the position was filled by none other than Varric himself. Cullen hadn’t expected to be so happy to see that dwarf again. “... of Starkhaven wrote to you again,” the man was saying. 

 

“Of course he did,” Varric sighed wearily. “Just put it in the pile with the letters from the Merchant’s Guild.”

 

“Varric!” Cullen called, gladness bubbling forth in his voice. 

 

“Curly!” Varric exclaimed, seeing him. They embraced gruffly. “Andraste’s ass! I never thought I’d see you again!” 

 

“For once, we meet when you’re not technically under arrest,” Cullen laughed brightly, patting Varric on the back. 

 

“Hey now, technically, we only met when I was arrested one time. All the other times you were just… thinking about it.”

 

“I was thinking about it pretty hard on an occasion or two,” Cullen grinned. “But this time I sort of get the feeling I’m coming to the rescue.” He glanced at the man. 

 

“Is that what you call it?” Bran asked drily. 

 

“I didn’t say whose rescue, Bran.”

 

“You’re in a rare mood, Cullen,” Bran smiled. 

 

“Well, the cakes were nice. Kirkwall was severely lacking of little cakes that taste of despair.”

 

Varric chuckled. “See, we got him out of Kirkwall, and little did we know he’d come out of his cocoon and turn from a caterpillar into a terrible comedian.”

 

Cullen laughed. “It happens when the only jokes I had to hear on the ship ride over were yours, Varric,” he said. “I take it you’re Seneschal to Master Tethras now, Bran?”

 

“Indeed. An unenviable position to be sure,” Bran drawled. 

 

“Truly.”

 

“It seems that the two of you have a great deal to discuss,” Bran said. “Why don’t I just leave you to it?” He walked away, leaving Cullen and Varric to speak. 

 

“Viscount of Kirkwall, Varric Tethras,” Cullen teased, crossing his arms. “The dwarf who used to drive me insane with illegal rune sales. You and Worthy were a nightmare. Not as bad as you and Hawke.”

 

“I’d like to remind you that I’ve never been convicted of anything - officially,” Varric said quickly. “Still, turns out, you fund enough reconstruction efforts in a city-state and the nobles give you the worst job imaginable.”

 

“Made Viscount for your sins, Varric?” Cullen grinned.

 

“Which sins?”

 

“I think you’d be a great Viscount,” Cullen said honestly. “Your heart was always in the right place, Varric. And you do love Kirkwall, despite your better judgement.”

 

“I’ve loved a lot of things against my better judgement,” Varric sighed mournfully. “I guess the nobility figured, after Dumar and Perin, what’s the worst that could happen if they put a dwarf in charge?”

 

“You got the harbour and businesses running,” Cullen pointed out. “You get things done. That’s what Kirkwall desperately needed.”

 

“Well, I can get shit fixed for sure,” Varric grinned at him then. “Anyway, I was hoping to catch you before the summit. I got you a present.”

 

“You did?” Cullen blinked. “What sort of--”

 

Varric reached into his waist pouch and pulled out a sheaf of rolled parchment, bound with official looking ribbons and seals. He put it in Cullen’s hands. “What’s this?” Cullen asked. 

 

“Official recognition of your titles and holdings in Kirkwall,” Varric continued to grin. 

 

“My what?” Cullen exclaimed. 

 

“Congratulations!” Varric slapped him on the back. “You’re a Comte now!” 

 

“What?” Cullen gaped. “A title?”

 

“And holdings,” Varric added. 

 

Bran hurried over upon seeing the papers. “You can’t actually do that without--” he said quickly, flustered. 

 

“Too late! Already did it!” Varric threw his hands up. 

 

Cullen stared at Varric. “Comte Rutherford - A-are you quite serious?” he said. 

 

“Got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Varric grinned. “You might want to stop by Hightown to see your estate. It’s pretty nice - for Kirkwall, anyway.”

 

Cullen finally closed his hands over the documents. “Varric, I- This is too much! I don’t know what to say, it’s--”

 

“It’s nothing, compared to Inquisitor, slayer of Corypheus, saviour of the faith, Herald of Andraste,” Varric said. “It’s also far enough from Hawke - that was Aveline’s suggestion. She said your house should be relaxing, after all. Thought you and Giggles might like the quiet part of town.”

 

Cullen looked down at the documents. He never thought he’d actually ever have a title, this was a huge shock. But it wasn’t the title that touched him. Varric had told him not to worry in his letter, but Cullen had no idea this was what Varric had meant. A home, just in case. A future assured. Gratitude threatened to overwhelm him. Thank the Maker for a friend like Varric… “Proper disposition of empty estates is supposed to--” Bran was saying, gesturing urgently. 

 

“You were leaving us to talk, remember?” Varric pointed out. 

 

Bran looked at him helplessly and walked away. 

 

Cullen looked at Varric, his heart in his eyes. “Awe shucks, Curly, stop looking at me with those puppy dog eyes!” Varric said. 

 

“I can’t help it!” Cullen blushed slightly. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me!” 

 

“Awe, really?”

 

“Yes! You’re not going to get into trouble for this, are you?” Cullen asked. 

 

“Nothing I can’t get out of,” Varric shrugged. “Oh, that’s reminds me!” 

 

He reached into his waist pack and put a huge, ornate steel key onto Cullen’s hand with the scrolls. “Is this my house key?” Cullen asked. 

 

“It’s the key to the city.”

 

“Varric!” Cullen croaked hoarsely in disbelief. 

 

“You can’t give that away without approval from the Council and a special ceremony!” Bran hurried over, his gestures growing wilder. “It--”

 

“It’s just symbolic, anyway,” Varric waved Bran’s protests away. 

 

“It controls the giant chain nets in the harbour!” Bran grated, fighting to keep his voice polite and even. 

 

“Really?” Varric laughed. “That’s so much better than I thought.”

 

“Varric! Are you seriously giving me this?” Cullen said. “The key to the harbour?”

 

“Yeah,” Varric said. Cullen looked down at the key, his mind racing ahead. Varric seemed to read his thoughts. “Want to try it out?”

 

“No!” Bran wailed. 

 

Cullen was slightly disappointed by that. “Varric, I’m… touched. Hugely horrified by the key but… but thank you.”

 

Varric chuckled. 

 

“Please don’t give away anything else!” Bran pleaded. 

 

Varric ignored him. “Look,” he said to Cullen seriously. “I don’t know this Council thing is going to end for the Inquisition. But whatever gets decided, you’ve got a home in Kirkwall lined up for you, if you want it. Also… Control of the harbour, I guess.”

 

Cullen laughed. “I’ll keep the key safe. We wouldn’t want the harbour nets in the wrong hands, would we?” He smiled and hugged the dwarf. “Thanks, Varric. You’re a true friend.”

 

“Awe, shucks, stop, you’re going to make me tear up,” Varric chuckled, patting him on the back. Cullen stepped back. “Anyway, you should go talk to the other diplomats. I got to let Bran scold me for a bit for this.”

 

“As if that would work,” Bran sighed.

 

Cullen smiled and left them, holding the key and documents. He had to tell Evelyn. He headed into the palace, where a servant waiting politely brought him through the winding passages, walls ornately decorated with blue paint and gold trim. “Your apartments are this way, Inquisitor,” said the servant, her diminutive size exaggerated by her large pointed ears. She stopped by a door where Charter stood guard. Charter saluted and opened the door for him. 

 

Cullen was not ready for these shocks, but his room here was larger than the one he had in Skyhold. The bed was massive, curtains hanging from from an golden ring over the bed, cream coloured sheets of silk glittering in the sunlight that streamed in through the window. There was a sitting area before a huge fireplace, a stocked sideboard with drinks and his armour already on a stand. “Blessed Andraste,” he said, staring. 

 

“Do you have everything you need, Inquisitor?” asked the servant demurely. “If you require anything, the red velvet pull will summon me.”

 

“Thank you,” Cullen said. He looked at her. “What’s your name?”

 

The servant blinked in surprise, then blushed rosily. “Amiris,” she said in a tiny voice. 

 

“Thank you, Amiris,” he replied. 

 

She blushed even harder. Cullen looked at her helplessly. “Uh, that will be all.”

 

She bowed quickly and ran off.

 

Cullen turned stiffly and went to his chest. “Have you seen the Commander?” Cullen asked Charter. 

 

“She was here a while ago, but I think she’s settling in the troops,” Charter replied. “Shall I send for her?” 

 

“No need,” Cullen said, shutting his trunk. He headed out, murmuring his thanks to Charter. The meeting with Varric had been a shock to be sure, but Cullen couldn’t overstate how fortunate he felt for Varric’s kind gesture. He stepped out into the sunshine once more. Varric was no longer by the fountain, presumably so that BRan could scold him somewhere private. 

 

A helpful servant directed him to where Divine Victoria was speaking with the Fereldan Ambassador. Cullen steeled himself. There was no escape. Might as well face Arl Teagan. He climbed the steps to the upper gardens and found Leliana there, speaking to Arl Teagan. Leliana smiled when she saw him. Bann Teagan, not so much. “Divine Victoria,” Cullen smiled as he approached. “Am I interrupting?” He knew he was. 

 

“Of course not, Inquisitor,” Leliana said warmly. “You know Arl Teagan, of course. He is here representing Ferelden for the summit.”

 

“Arl Teagan,” Cullen bowed politely. 

 

“Good to meet you, Inquisitor,” Teagan said, smiling even as his eyes remained cold. 

 

“How fares Redcliffe, my lord?” 

 

At this, Teagan’s aloof aire softened. “Blessedly quiet,” he said. “The mayor sends his regards. Redcliffe remembers its saviour.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Cullen said honestly. “Redcliffe has had many troubles. I’m pleased it’s at peace now.” He glanced at Leliana. “I was hoping to steal a little of the Divine’s time, Arl Teagan, if that’s quite alright.”

 

“Very well, we’ll continue later, your perfection,” Teagan bowed to Leliana and took his leave.

 

She fell into step beside Cullen as they walked away. “Many are frightened by the Inquisition’s power,” she said. “But I will do all I can to allay their fears.”

 

“Is there anything I can do to make your job easier?” he asked. 

 

“Explore the grounds,” she advised. “Be seen. People need to put a face to the legends.”

 

“I can do that,” Cullen said. 

 

“Let me also say this,” Leliana told him seriously, stopping by a fountain so the water masked her words. “I may not be your spymaster, but I am always here if you require.”

 

Cullen bowed as she walked away. 

 

Arl Teagan walked over to him the. “I am glad you finally arrived, Inquisitor,” said Teagan. “The crown is eager for news.”

 

“As am I,” Cullen replied diplomatically. “We are only a letter apart, Arl Teagan.”

 

“Indeed, we have been keeping in close correspondence, haven’t we?”

 

Cullen forced a smile. 

 

“Your agent’s last foray in Denerim left a building on fire.”

 

“We regret the unavoidable circumstances that led to the property destruction,” Cullen replied cooly. “They did stop the Venatori from burning down your granaries, however.”

 

“We do not ignore the fact that your organization does good work,” Teagan said firmly. “Ferelden acknowledges the aid the Inquisition has given it over the years. But the Breach is long gone, yet Skyhold’s armies remain. We cannot ignore the soldiers within our borders.”

 

Cullen folded his arms, frowning thoughtfully. “The Inquisition has grown,” he conceded. “I can understand why it would cause concern.”

 

“Then you also understand why we must demand a reduction of your military forces,” Teagan said. “A power without allegiance to either Ferelden or Orlais? Though you yourself are Fereldan, you still hold yourself and the Inquisition neutral. Even I can see that neither of our countries can let it rest.” Teagan sighed. “I won’t keep you longer. We’ll have words enough when the council begins.”

 

Cullen bowed to Teagan and took his leave. A reduction of military forces? That was not an unreasonable request. The Inquisition’s army numbered close to forty thousand now, but most were spread thin. The armies that remained in Ferelden were mainly camped in the Frostbacks, but Cullen supposed Alistair was getting jittery now. Or was he? Would he ally with either country? No, to do so would immediately threaten the other. It would upset the balance of power in the South. Peace remained because Orlais had a pacifist ruler and Ferelden was too vicious to conquer. And in between them, sat the Inquisition. 

 

Best speak to Duke Cyril. Cullen had an idea of what Orlais wanted, judging by all the marriage proposals to women close to the throne. That was ridiculous, of course. As if his hand in marriage was something to be… used. At least Ferelden was upfront about its desires.

 

He found Duke Cyril at the other side of the raised gardens, speaking to, of all people, Dorian. “...why the Orlesian court is circling it with a net a collar?” Dorian was asking the Duke bluntly. Dorian looked over Cyril’s shoulder and his eyes brightened. “But do excuse me, I seen an old friend I must greet.”

 

Cullen flashed him a grin. “Dorian!” he said. “It’s been a long time!”

 

“Don’t actually tell me how long, I despise feeling old,” Dorian said brightly. “Cullen, Cullen, Cullen, looking as dashing as ever!” 

 

Cullen laughed. “Coming from you, that is great praise.”

 

“I know! But I’m feeling magnanimous today.”

 

“I hadn’t expected you to arrive before me. I hope you weren’t bored.”

 

“It was everything I expected,” Dorian sighed. “At least we both were spared the element of surprise. Ferelden wants the Inquisition gone, Orlais wants the Inquisition tamed.”

 

“Like a riding a lion,” Cullen shared. “Something to be steered or something to be feared.”

 

“Evelyn would know all about that,” Dorian cast him a knowing smile as he crossed his arms.

 

Cullen shrugged. It was impossible to be embarrassed about this stuff around Dorian. “She’s more inclined to steering,” he said. 

 

“I’ll bet she is, the minx.”

 

“So Ambassador Pavus, is it?”

 

“A reward for my interest in the South, apparently. Thankfully, it is but a token appointment. Call on me as you like! But now I must leave you, I can feel the enthusiasm of the Duke as he eyes you right through my back.”

 

Cullen looked at him with disappointment. “I was hoping you were going to save me.”

 

“Perhaps later. We will have another game of Wicked Grace soon, yes?”

 

“No.” Cullen glared at him as Dorian left, chuckling to himself. True enough, Duke Cyril approached him.

 

“Inquisitor,” Cyril bowed. Cullen returned it. “Duke Cyril Montfort, member of the Council of Heralds and Lord of Chateau Haine.”

 

“It is an honour to meet you, your grace.”

 

“I have long followed your work, Inquisitor. It is extraordinary.”

 

“Is that sentiment shared by the court, your grace?” Cullen kept his voice neutral.

 

Cyril laughed. “Of course!” he said warmly. “Orlais only wishes to offer respectful guidance to the Inquisition.”

 

“And does your grace agree with that?”

 

“I would rather see the Inquisition join us freely than be carved to pieces for the chessboard.”

 

Cullen tilted his head curiously. “Is that what’s going to happen?” he asked. 

 

“It is unavoidable that certain parties would eye your resources with glutinous eyes,” Cyril sighed mournfully. “We have not forgotten Justinia’s death, and I had friends who perished at the Temple. More than the good you have done, it is the good we can do together that I don’t wish to lose.”

 

“I understand,” Cullen replied. That was a simple phrase, one he found worked well with nobles. It offered neither disagreement nor support.

 

“Whatever happens, Inquisitor,” Cyril bowed. “I wish you well.”

 

Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck when the Duke walked away. He was getting a headache from dealing with the nobles already. He felt a pain in his arm and winced, twisting his elbow, willing the mark not to flare. He looked down at his hand and rubbed his thumb over the mark. He should probably tell Evie… Now that she was here, a lot of stress had been alleviated. Perhaps this was a good time. Best to tell her before he asked her, anyway. He felt a sudden pining for Cassandra, missing her blunt straightforward words, the way she saw to the heart of things and helped him cut through the nonsense. He went searching for her. 

 

He found her at a quiet corner of the palace’s lower gardens in the West Wing, donned in her Seeker armour, looking out over the city of Halamshiral. Cullen stopped when she gasped at the sight of him. She blinked at him. “Hello,” Cullen said mildly. “Is everything alright?”

 

She cleared her throat. “Yes… well, I-- I wanted to speak with you and now you’re here.”

 

They stared at each other, awkwardness blooming between them. 

 

Cullen gave up. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked. 

 

Cassandra then oddly blushed. “Maybe you should sit,” she said. 

 

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “I… can stand.”

 

“Maybe  _ I _ should sit!” Cassandra turned and sat herself down on a bench. Perplexed, Cullen followed her and sat beside her.

 

She was silent for a moment, looking ahead. Then she drew a breath. “Cullen!” she spoke, her voice ringing with affection. “I want you to know that I am your friend. I will always be your friend.”

 

Cullen stared at her and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well-- That’s-- Thank you?”

 

“So I wanted  to give you some advice on this momentous day!” She put her hand on his shoulder in firm encouragement, her heart in her eyes. “Do what is in your heart, my friend! No matter what anyone might tell you!” 

 

Cullen stared at her even more. “I-- what? What are you on about, Cassandra?”

 

Cassandra sighed in exasperation. “I’m talking about marriage, Cullen! Evelyn is easy on the eyes and comes from a distinguished family, and--” 

 

Cullen’s blush began, heating from his chest to his neck. “M-marriage?”

 

“Of course!” Cassandra said to him. “You are going to propose to her, are you not?”

 

Cullen gaped at her, the armies of his blush rising over his cheeks. He looked away mumbling incomprehensibly, his words tumbling over each other. 

 

“You’re not going to propose.” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. She stood up and clenched her fists as she paced. “I am going to kill Varric! Why do I believe everything he says?  _ Why?! _ ”

 

“V-Varric told you I was proposing?” Cullen squeaked. He had told no one of his plan! 

 

Cassandra slowed. “He… mentioned a proposal. I suppose I filled in the blanks.”

 

Cullen bit his lip and looked away. He sighed heavily and stood up, going to the railing and leaning his hands on it. The city stretched out before him as he tried to get the words out. Surely if he could tell Cassandra, it wouldn’t be too hard to tell Evelyn. Cassandra had always been level headed. “I-- Actually, I-- I was going to--” he mumbled. 

 

“What?” Cassandra exclaimed. She grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. “Andraste! Are you serious! You’re going to propose?”

 

“When the time is right!” Cullen said quickly. “Not-- Not necessarily today. I… I don’t know how to--”

 

“You don’t know how to propose?” Cassandra asked. She rolled her eyes. “Blessed Andraste!”

 

“It’s not like I’ve done it before!” Cullen snapped in exasperation. 

 

“Let me help,” she said, her voice businesslike, her eyes sparkling. 

 

“What?” He remembered her taste of literature too late. “No--”

 

“First, you must make sure you have the necessary equipment,” she said, her hands on her hips. “Flowers, something decent to wear, a romantic location to ask the question--”

 

“Question?”

 

Cullen nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Josephine’s voice. She walked down the staircase holding her clipboard. He tried to subtly plead with Cassandra with his eyes. “Cullen is going to ask Evelyn to marry him,” Cassandra said, to whom subtlety was as impossible to comprehend as a breath of winter in the desert.  

 

Cullen slapped his palm over his eyes as Josephine gasped. “You’re serious?” Josephine breathed. 

 

Cullen ran his hand over his face. “Maker’s breath,” he said, his cheeks red. “I--”

 

“That’s wonderful!” Josephine gushed. 

 

“Uh--” 

 

“Flowers, ring?” Josephine asked, suddenly scribbling on her clipboard. 

 

“What are you--” Cullen stared at her in horror. 

 

“I told him, I doubt he has it,” Cassandra said seriously. 

 

“I don’t think that’s really necess--” He began and froze under their stern glare. 

 

“You only have one shot at this,” Cassandra said firmly. “Of course they are necessary!” 

 

Cullen looked at them helplessly. “It’s Evie, she doesn’t even wear rings!”

 

“You’ve written to her family, I trust?” Josephine asked. 

 

Cullen frowned. “No, I have not.”

 

Josephine frowned. “You should, you do know that Bann Trevelyan is a highly influential family in Ostwick, yes? Slated to be next in line to be Teyrn upon Evelyn’s marriage.”

 

Cullen’s eyes bored into Josephine’s. “What?” he asked. “What does that even mean?”

 

“Surely her parents would not disapprove of Cullen,” Cassandra said. 

 

“Of course not, he is the Inquisitor and that supersedes any title given by any crown.”

 

“Maker, stop!” Cullen cried, holding his hands up. “Just stop, please.” He drew a deep breath, gathering himself. “I… I appreciate what you’re both doing, I really do, just-- I’ll find a way. My own way. I will try to make it romantic-- somehow, but that is the least of my concerns.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Josephine asked worriedly. 

 

Cullen frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. Maker’s breath, was he really having this conversation with Josephine and Cassandra? “I just-- need the right time,” he admitted. “Don’t say anything to Evelyn!” 

 

“Of course not, you have our word,” Cassandra said, her eyes alight. “Will you wed in the gardens, I wonder?” she asked, a little wistful lilt to her voice. “Ah, that would be perfect…”

 

“That would be perfect,” Josephine agreed. Her quill twitched in her hand. 

 

“Please don’t plan anything!” Cullen begged. “I haven’t even asked her!” 

 

“I’m sure you’ll find the right time,” said Josephine, her eyes thoughtful as she tapped her quill on her chin. “Yes, I’m sure you will.”

 

“Josephine…” he warned. 

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t meddle,” Josephine promised. “I’ll let you choose the moment of your asking.”

 

“Thank you,” Cullen breathed in relief. 

 

“I’m sure it will be romantic,” Cassandra waggled her finger at him.

 

“Andraste’s blood! I’ll ask in my own way,” Cullen said.

 

“Ask what?” 

 

Cullen froze, his heart hammering in an odd mixture of fear and relief as Evelyn walked up to them, her smile bright. What did she hear? No, nothing incriminating. Everything was fine! Cullen glanced away. “N-nothing.” He realized that Cassandra and Josephine were smirking like cats who got in the cream. He hated them for one irrational moment. 

 

“Troops all settled in, and we’ve got guard rotations established. We practically have run of the west wing, which would make things easier,” Evelyn reported as she adjusted the sleeve of her uniform. “Poor Rylen can finally rest his tired old-man legs.” 

 

She stopped talking when she saw that no one was listening. Cullen stood blushing furiously as Cassandra and Josephine smiled mysteriously. “Did I interrupt something?” she asked. 

 

“Nothing,” Cullen said firmly. “Cassandra and Josephine were  _ just leaving _ .”

 

“Of course!” Josephine said brightly. 

 

“I’ll talk to you later, Cullen,” Cassandra called over her shoulder as she walked away with Josephine. 

 

Cullen looked at Evelyn now that they were alone. Ask her! But they hadn’t even been intimate in weeks - was this really the most romantic time? He had a plan! Should he write to her family? Did he really need a ring? “Is something wrong, love?” Evelyn asked. “You’re really fascinated by the trellis, aren’t you?”

 

Cullen had to get away, he couldn’t deal with this information overload. “No, it’s-- I should go talk to the others,” he said, stepping away from her. 

 

“Oh,” she blinked, a little puzzled. “Well, Cole and Bull are in the tavern. Sera too.”

  
“Thank you,” he said and hurried away from her as quickly as he could, leaving her standing with a puzzled frown on her brow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is more afraid of women than Corypheus by this point.


	47. Reconnections - Trespasser

Cullen did not want to think about rings and letters and long-overdue intimacy right then. He paused to take a moment to calm himself. It was fine. Fine. He would settle everything, he was the Inquisitor, for Maker’s sake. Once he was happy in his reaffirmed Inquisitorship, he followed the sound of music. The music was familiar. 

 

On the grounds, there was indeed a tavern. And Cullen felt like he was suddenly home at Skyhold. Maryden sat outside the tavern, music falling from her fingers, her voice raised in song. Cullen smiled and walked up to her. “Inquisitor,” he heard and turned to see an Orlesian noble at a table. “I see you have time for afternoon refreshments!” He beckoned Cullen over. Cullen winced inwardly as he moved to the noble. 

 

Then, a figure blinked into view. Cullen stopped and grinned. Cole leaned over the noble’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear. The noble blinked and stood up. “What an odd things to say,” he murmured. “I must see this for myself…” With a preoccupied air, he walked away. 

 

“You’ve saved me again, Cole,” Cullen laughed. 

 

“I still don’t understand Orlesians and their masks, but it makes them happy,” Cole said. “And I needed the table.” He stepped aside from the table, and tiny sparrows fluttered to the wood, unafraid of the boy. They began to eat the bread crumbs from the tabletop. “Birds like breadcrumbs.”

 

Cullen’s smile was warm. “Cole,” Cullen heard the song end as Maryden called out. “I didn’t see you there!” 

 

She set down her lute. Cole walked over to her. “But I saw you,” Cole said. “As lovely as your songs.” He kissed Maryden on her blushing cheeks. Cullen watched in admiration. That was a good line. Cole was good. She giggled and looked at Cullen helplessly. 

 

“I’m pleased for both of you,” he said sincerely. 

 

“The world has ample pain, Inquisitor,” Maryden said. “The kindness found in Cole is rare indeed.”

 

“Her songs bring happiness to those who hear,” Cole added. “And I can make her happy in return.”

 

“Well then,” Cullen smiled. “Carry on. We’ll talk soon, Cole.”

 

“Yes.” Cole blinked at him. Cullen was used to it, and turned away. 

 

“Here’s you!” someone squealed and jumped on his neck. Cullen staggered as Sera swung from his shoulders. 

 

“Sera!” he exclaimed, then tried to pry her hands from around his neck. “This is where you let go!” 

 

“Oooh, or what, people think we’re a kissy couple?” she grinned. 

 

“Yes!” he croaked as she bent her knees, hanging from his neck. 

 

“Oooooo! What now then eh? Quizzie Cully making kissy faces at me!”

 

“Sera!” Cullen snapped but couldn’t help but laugh at her ridiculous kissing face. She let go of him. 

 

“Glad to be back, all stuffed together, with the pressure full on - again!” she said. 

 

“Sort of,” he agreed. “Definitely happy to see everyone again.”

 

“Don’t worry, Herald of Everywhere,” Sera grinned wickedly. “I came prepared. I know what everyone needs...”

 

“Really?” Cullen blinked. 

 

“Don’t you worry about it,” Sera said, waving her hand at him. “You’re too uptight. I’ll talk to Evie later.”

 

Cullen stared at her. “Do I want to know?” Cullen asked. 

 

Sera snorted and started to laugh, slapping her knee. “You’ll know!” she grinned. “You’ll know!’ She turned his shoulders and pushed him away. “You go away now, I want to find Evie!” 

 

“Really?” Cullen rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder. Sera was already running off. He smiled. At least she did get his letter. He was glad for that. Cullen looked around the tavern. There, sticking out like a sore thumb, was Bull. Before he could move to the qunari, Krem hurried up to him. “Hello, Kre--”

 

“Inquisitor,” Krem said seriously. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Listen,” Krem hissed. “I need you to keep the chief distracted while we sneak the dragon skull through the door.”

 

“The what?” Cullen whispered and looked over the man’s shoulder. There was indeed a dragon skull sitting in the sunshine outside the tavern. Cullen’s eyebrows shot up. “Alright” he said. “I’ll… see what I can do.”

 

“It’s for his birthday! Just keep him talking, he loves talking,” Krem flashed him a grin and left the tavern, Cullen cleared his throat and walked up to Bull seated at the bar. 

 

“Hey boss!” Bull said brightly as Cullen sat down next to him. “Good to see you!” 

 

“Hey,” Cullen said. Keep him talking? Bull pulled over a cup and filled it from his hip flask. Cullen recognized the eye-watering smell of alcohol. “Maker, you’re going to get me drunk before dinner,” he said. 

 

“Best time!” 

 

Cullen threw caution to the wind and downed the drink. Then doubled over coughing, his eyes watering, his gullet and stomach on fire. “I missed this,” he coughed. 

 

“I’ll bet, right!” Bull grinned broadly and refilled Cullen’s cup. 

 

One shot was enough. “So, uh,” he said, blinking away the tears. “How’s the Chargers? Seen any rifts on your travels?”

 

“Not for a while,” Bull replied, glancing at him and falling silent. 

 

“Yes, they seemed to have mostly dissipated now that the breach is sealed for good,” Cullen said. And the conversation died. He glanced out the window, the Chargers pushing the skull at a snail’s pace across the gravel outside. “So, Bull, did you know that Ferelden has its own name for lords? Teyrns for Tyrnirs, Arls for Arlings, Banns for… Banns. In the Bannorn.”

 

“No way,” Bull blinked at him and sipped his drink. And saying nothing else. 

 

Cullen swore inside. Bull was being uncooperative. “Do you think the Council will affect the lyrium trade?” Cullen asked, glancing out the window. The Chargers were pushing the skull along still, but the skull seemed to have become stuck on something because it wasn’t moving despite their best efforts.  

 

“Uh… Maybe?” Bull said and fell silent. 

 

Cullen grit his teeth. “So, you know there’s this thing called the Ciriane Culture that--”

 

Something outside exploded, the sound rocking the walls. Bull moved to turn. Cullen panicked.

 

“Evelyn and I have not had sex in months!” he blurted. 

 

Bull turned and glared at him incredulously. 

 

Cullen’s own words caught up with his brain and he groaned, burying his face in his hand. Maker, what in the void had be just said?! Too many shocks in a day!

 

“Well now, that’s a thing I would talk about,” Bull said. 

 

“Andraste preserve me!” Cullen groaned. 

 

Bull laughed and slapped him on the back. “Took you long enough to find something good,” he laughed. “So, what is wrong with you? Why aren’t you riding your pretty lady nightly?”

 

Cullen’s face was on fire. He could not believe he was having this conversation. Least of all with Bull. In his moment of panic, he blurted the thing he worried about the most. His eyes still covered by his hand, his cheeks aflame, he replied, “Because I’m busy. She’s busy. This is ridiculous.”

 

“You ought to add that to your schedule,” Bull said. “Then make sure you ease up the appointments before that - help yourself relax or you can’t get it up.”

 

“Argh...” Cullen wasn’t even looking at what the Chargers were doing anymore, even as he felt the veil tugged with the magic spell Dalish must have cast. 

 

“Seriously, boss, do it. Wednesday night, nine o’ clock, ride the dog lord.”

 

“Argh.” 

 

“Or Friday, six thirty, dine on Ostwick maids-of-honours pastries. Heh heh… Though knowing Eve, you start with maids-of-honour, she’ll probably end up tarts.”

 

“Argh!” Cullen said, burying his face deeper into his hand. But Bull was right. Perhaps he should… 

 

“Seriously, that would work. And I’m not just saying that to wait for them to get that skull in the room either.”

 

Cullen lowered his hand and glared at Bull, his eyes flashing. “You knew,” Cullen stated. It was not a question.

 

“Ben Hassrath, remember?” Bull smirked. “You still can’t control your face to save your life.”

 

“Surprise!” Krem said excitedly as he stood with the Chargers, the skull wedged in the door. “Happy birthday, Chief!” 

 

Bull stood and turned around, his eyes wide. “Aw, you guys!” he said, his voice filled with surprise. “You got me!” 

 

“I hate you,” Cullen grated at Bull. 

 

Bull put his arm around Cullen’s shoulders, gesturing to the skull grandly. “Boss! Look! A dragon skull!”

 

“I hate you so much,” Cullen grated through clenched teeth even as he forced a smile for Krem’s sake. 

 

Bull just laughed and slapped him on the back again, nearly making him spill his drink. 

 

“Give some thought to what I said, boss,” Bull said. “Best birthday, ever, am I right? Drinks on me!”

 

“I need to go,” Cullen’s voice was painfully controlled, feeling the blush spreading across his chest to his stomach. He downed the drink and, coughing and tearing but glad for the alcohol to burn the memory of the conversation from his mind. He made a quick exit from the tavern then as the party began. 

 

Cullen sighed and stepped into the sunshine, the shadows growing longer. He saw the stocks nearby and a familiar figure there throwing daggers. Cullen shook the drink from his head. Stupid Qunari drinks. Still, he really shouldn’t avoid repairing the situation with Blackwall. It had been two years. Cullen walked up to Blackwall as he threw another dagger viciously at the target. He missed once, then hit the bullseye on the second try. 

 

Blackwall heard him approaching and lowered his arm, turning to Cullen. “Inquisitor,” he said. 

 

“Blackwall,” Cullen replied. Awkwardness bloomed once more for Cullen. Maker, maybe he shouldn’t have spoke to Blackwall right after dealing with Bull. 

 

“I was worried you weren’t coming,” Blackwall smiled at him. “I’ve been waiting for a while.”

 

“I said we’d talk,” Cullen said. “How have you been?”

 

“It’s been a difficult two years,” Blackwall replied. “But I had it coming.’ He gestured for Cullen to sit down. There was a cask next to the bench, from which Blackwall filled two camp cups. To Blackwall’s credit, it was still easy to talk to the man. The sun lowered in the sky as they shared stories over the past two years. “And after the betrayal and after what I put those men through, my sorries were worth about as much as shit,” Blackwall was saying and drained his cup. Cullen had lost count how many they had had. 

 

“So how many people kicked your arse?” Cullen asked, refilling Blackwall’s cup and handing it to him. 

 

“I lost count at twelve,” Blackwall chuckled. “But they needed to know there’s a way to come back from anything. And I wanted to help them, if I could. I thought going up there to the Gallows was difficult, this was worse - a hundred times worse.”

 

Cullen smiled to himself, feeling more at peace with his decision to pardon Blackwall than ever. 

 

“I feel I owe you more than ever now,” Blackwall said to Cullen. “You were right. Dying was the easy way out. I’m glad you kicked some sense into me, and that you’re willing to talk to me after everything I did.”

 

Cullen smirked as he held his cup. “What you did was terrible,” he said honestly. “You weren’t getting out of it that easy.”

 

Blackwall sighed. “And this is better,” he admitted. “I’m not sure what to think of this Council, but no matter what, you know you have my sword arm and my friendship, if you need it.”

 

Cullen smiled at him. “We’ll see what this Council brings,” he replied. Blackwall stood up and drew another dagger from the sheath at his waist. He threw it and it flew off the mark, hitting the wall. 

 

“You’re terrible at this,” Cullen teased. 

 

“I’ve had a few.”

 

“It’s obvious.” 

 

They shared a grin. 

 

“I-Inquisitor?” Cullen turned to see Amiris standing there. “The Commander requests that you meet her in your chambers.”

 

Cullen stood up. “Missus calling you?” Blackwall asked. 

 

“Not missus yet,” Cullen said, setting his cup down on the bench. What had he just said? Why was he so bad at keeping his mouth shut?

 

“Too scared?” Blackwall asked as Cullen walked away. 

 

Cullen said nothing and hurried away. He needed a new way to ask her now that the lake was out of the question for the foreseeable future. He was mulling over this as Amiris led him to his chambers. Giggles made him look up. Cullen saw Evelyn and Josephine giggling in the corridor. He raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Cullen!” Josephine spoke up. “Your Commander is entirely--”

 

“Stop it!” Evelyn pleaded, covering Josephine’s mouth as she laughed. 

 

Cullen stared at them, his eyes a little wild as he looked at Josephine. He glanced at Evelyn. “What’s that on your face?” he asked. 

 

Evelyn hurriedly wiped the pale yellow smear from her cheek. “Nothing!”

 

He raised an eyebrow at them both and went to his chamber door. He opened it. The custard tart hit him right in the face. Cullen swore viciously as he wiped custard from his eyes. He heard laughter as Sera took off down the hall. “Sera!” he shouted.

 

Evelyn and Josephine were laughing. “Why would you do this?” Cullen asked Evelyn plaintively. “I’ve had too many shocks today!” 

 

Evelyn couldn’t answer him through her laughter. Cullen swore and left them in the hallway, heading into the room to the wash basin, Evelyn’s laughter following him into the room. He wet his hands but Evelyn took his shoulder, turning him around. As he leaned against the basin stand, she tiptoed and licked the custard off his nose, smiling up impishly. “Josie has a present for us,” she said and took another lick. Cullen realized Josephine was standing at the door, barely containing her giggles. 

 

He blushed and tried to push Evelyn off him. “What present?” he asked warily as Evelyn licked his cheek. “Pup,” he blushed. “Really--”

 

“We accept, Josie,” Evelyn grinned at her. 

 

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Josephine asked, scandalised. 

 

“Of course!” Evelyn said, her eyes beacons of innocence. “The Inquisitor has to clean off!” 

 

Josephine laughed. “I’ll see you both in an hour! We’ll have a carriage ready!” 

 

“Carriage?” Cullen asked. 

 

“In an hour!” Evelyn replied. 

 

Josephine shut the door behind her. Evelyn licked his chin. “What carriage? What for?” he asked. She licked the other side of his nose. “I cannot believe you’re licking it off me.”

 

“I only agreed to let Sera deck you in the face with a tart for this very reason,” she said.

 

Shen she leaned up to lick him again, Cullen kissed her, tasting the custard on her lips, smearing more onto her skin as they kissed. She quivered in his arms. Start with maids-of-honour and end up tarts? Bull was so right. “What’s this about a carriage?” he asked, nuzzling her forehead with his, their faces covered in custard. 

 

“Josephine has tickets for the opera,” Evelyn said. “You can wear what you’re wearing now, just be careful not to get tart on it.” She held his shoulders, almost breathless. “I should get ready.”

 

“You’re not wearing your uniform?” he asked. 

 

“Of course not! Not to an opera,” she smiled and kissed him again.

 

“What’s an opera?”

 

She looked up at him and blinked. “It’s music and magic and wonder,” she sighed wistfully. She let go of him so they could wash their faces. “You’ll love it! Josie was right. You never did get a chance to enjoy Orlesian Culture.”

 

“I had a good dose of the Game,” Cullen replied, taking care not to let custard or water drip onto his uniform.

 

“There’s more to Orlais than that!” Evelyn said brightly. “The opera is culture! It’s art!” 

 

“Is it? It sounds Orlesian.”

 

She smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t be so Fereldan, Cullen,” she chided and went to her chest.

 

“That’s Comte Cullen, by the way,” he said, reaching for a towel to dry his face.

 

“What do you mean?” she asked, pulling out something flowing in dark blue. 

 

“Varric’s given me a gift. A title and holdings in Kirkwall. I’m a Comte. And there’s a house somewhere there too.”

 

She was staring at him in surprise, then a slow smile crept across her face. “Oh Cullen!” she breathed. “Maker, that dwarf… he’s a gem.”

 

He smiled at her. “I’m glad you approve,” he said. 

 

She draped the dress over her arm. “You know, I am worried about this Council,” she admitted. “If push comes to shove and the Inquisition is dissolved…” She beamed at him. “It’s good to know we have friends.”

 

+++++

 

Cullen sat next to Rylen, the ladies on either side of them, talking around them in hushed voices in the open-air theater. The stars shone down upon the curved seats and boxes that rose from the roofed stage. The red drapes were drawn and the musicians were tuning their instruments, a low hum of music filling the air as nobles chatted in the wings. They were in a box overlooking the stage. Cullen had no idea how Josephine arranged this. They had a servant waiting to fill their champagne glasses. Perks of Inquisitorship. Cullen just wished he understood what was going on. He read the programme and it was literally all Orlesian to him. “I cannot believe you got dragged into this,” Cullen smirked at Rylen as he set the program down.

 

“I’d like to remind you that my boss is your lover,” Rylen pointed out. “Also, an evening with a beautiful lady was an invitation I gladly said yes to.”

 

Josephine giggled at that, her hair falling over one shoulder in a dark cascade, her black and red dress was ruffled and she had a black choker around her neck. She and Rylen actually looked… rather compatible. 

 

“I hope you’re taking notes,” Evelyn teased, patting Cullen with her lace fan. Cullen rolled his eyes. Evelyn was like a starry sky, in a flowing gown of dark blue, a sash tied around her waist, with sparkling gems at her neck and ears. Her opera gloves felt good in his hand. Then the music began. It was huge, it was grand. There was a huge singer pretending to be a sixteen year old girl, and a man in his forties singing as a page boy. Then there was the thing with the masks and the page boy turned out to be the scion of the rival family wanting to marry the maid who was really the baroness and… And Cullen couldn’t follow the story any longer. It did not help that they were singing in Antivan. 

 

Evelyn had tried to narrate it for him. There was a particularly touching song sung as the lead soprano left the page boy. Evelyn was tearing as she held his arm. Cullen leaned down to her. “What’s she saying?” he asked in a whisper. “I take it it’s a break up song?”

 

Evelyn sniffed. “She’s saying,” she said. “She’s saying ‘I am bound, I cannot leave, held by fate because the door is stuck.”

 

Cullen looked at her evenly. “You’re serious?”

 

Evelyn nodded, wiping a tear. “It’s beautiful.”

 

Cullen straightened up and glanced at Rylen. The two men exchanged a look. Josephine was also sniffling softly.

 

The opera ended on a huge note, the entire orchestra shouting the grandest aria to the sky, music rising with the voices of the lead singers hitting notes Cullen never knew was possible to hit. When silence fell, Cullen applauded together with the other audience. “Brava!” Evelyn cried, as she clapped. 

 

She turned to him. “Did you enjoy it?” she asked breathlessly. 

 

“It was entertaining,” Cullen admitted. “And very loud.”

 

“Dame Scarpolli is known for her wonderful alto aria,” she said. 

 

“Who’s that?” he asked.

 

“The page boy.”

 

“That was a woman?” he asked incredulously. He caught her look. “I mean, of course,” he added lamely. 

 

She laughed and hooked her arm in his. “I know, it’s a weird world of make believe,” she said warmly. 

 

“Soiree?” Josephine asked as she and Rylen stood up, arm in arm. They actually did look like a nice couple, Cullen thought again. 

 

“Soon,” Evelyn said. “You go ahead. I think Cullen needs to recover from that last aria.”

 

“We’ll see you at the lobby then,” Josephine said, setting her hand on Rylen’s arm. 

 

“See you,” Cullen said, casting Rylen a subtle smirk. Rylen raised an eyebrow in reply, a slight smile on his lips as he led Josephine out.

 

“Well now, are you trying to accomplish something with the two of them, pup?” Cullen asked. 

 

Evelyn grinned. “A girl never tells.”

 

Cullen smiled at her. He looked down at her hand in his as they sat in the box. He had to ask her. This was… No, he had a few things to do before asking. Perhaps he could get her in the gardens later. That would work. He couldn’t ask her if he couldn’t be honest with her. “Pup,” he began. “I’m… I should probably let you know about the mark.”

 

She looked up at him, her blue eyes serious, a lock of hair caught at her red lips. He smiled faintly and pulled her lock away with his finger. “The mark is, um, misbehaving.”

 

“I thought you had it under control,” she said, her eyes worried. 

 

“I do,” he replied quickly. “I do. I just need to refrain from using it so much. The green is creeping over the back of my hand.”

 

She frowned, eyeing his hand. “It’s fine now,” he assured her. “It sometimes stings, but that’s all.”

 

“How far can it spread?” she asked. 

 

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. 

 

“Is it dangerous?” 

 

“It might be,” he said. “But it should be fine if I don’t use it.”

 

He saw the frown on her face and reached up to smooth the furrow from her brow. “Don’t, pup. It’s all under control.”

 

She sighed and nodded. “You know yourself best,” she said, and rested her head on his shoulder. 

 

Cullen was silent for a while sinking in his chair so he could rest his head on hers. He didn’t want to worry her, but that was better than her finding out about it when it got worse. He remembered what Josephine had said that afternoon. “Pup?” 

 

“Mm?”

 

“Josie sort of mentioned something I didn’t know about your family. Something about Teyrn?”

 

Evelyn groaned.

 

“Should I brace myself?” he asked her. He knew that groan.

 

“No, it’s nothing, it’s resolved,” she said. “Or it will be soon.”

 

“What’s resolved?”

 

“My family was supposed to be Teyrn. But not directly. The DuGrace family is next to be elected. Mother’s settling it, though. It’s now just nullifying the betrothal papers and returning the dowry.”

 

“Dowry?” Cullen asked, stiffening. 

 

“Stop it,” she said, looking up at him. “It’s a marriage that’s not going to happen. It  _ is _ being annulled as we speak.”

 

He glared ahead. “You didn’t tell me,” he said. 

 

“I didn’t,” she replied. “I wanted to when everything was resolved, but since you brought it up…”

 

“You’re engaged?”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

“Except you are.”

 

“On paper.” She looked up at him and kissed him. “Even that won’t be for very long. It will settle itself. Mother’s been supportive of the break.”

 

“Why?” Cullen asked. They were giving up a Teyrnship.

 

Evelyn tilted her head. “Because the Herald of Andraste outranks the Teyrn?” she smiled faintly. 

 

“That’s the reason?” he asked incredulously. Her mother was sounding… interesting. 

 

“Well, for now, since she hasn’t met you,” she said. “Once she does, she’ll know what a good man you are. She would approve.”

 

Cullen wondered about that. Not that it mattered, he couldn’t even ask her. He took her hand in his. “I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he said. 

 

“It’s not really her opinion that matters,” she said warmly. 

 

Cullen chuckled. “That is also true.” She leaned her head on his shoulder once more, his fingers tracing hers, taking note of her ring size in as subtle a way as possible. Did he need a ring? He had no idea. She never used any rings, rings got caught in things in a fight and pulled your finger off. Maybe he could--

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a whistling noise that made Evelyn gasp in delight. He looked up as a point of light trailed its way to the sky and explode into a glittering flower, illuminating the open-air theater. Cullen’s eyes lit up with the colours as more burst in the sky, thundering and flickering and filling the night with stars. Her hand slipped into his. He looked at the small woman next to him, who had become such a huge part of his life. Her eyes were transfixed on the glittering lights above, shining with a light of their own from within. She was his choice, every day. He would fix one last problem with their relationship now, and then… then he could ask her. 

 

+++++

 

Josephine had been giving Cullen odd looks on the carriage ride back, almost inquisitive glances. Cullen ignored them. Perhaps the opera had been where she hoped he would ask Evelyn, but Evelyn and he had ended up discussing other matters of equal importance. They had to be honest, Cullen thought as he watched the streets of Halamshiral go by outside the window of the carriage, the Inquisition guard’s horses galloping by carriage. And they had to make time for each other. They needed to talk about all these things. 

 

And he needed a ring, perhaps. He was still of two minds on that. Back at the palace, he and Evelyn bade Josephine and Rylen goodnight in the gardens and retreated to their chambers. Evelyn was still humming the door-stuck song as she went to the dresser and started taking off her gloves. “You know, I didn’t even know you had jewelry,” he said as he shut the door and walked up to her. 

 

“They were gifts,” she said. “Mother sent them a while ago. No use for them in Skyhold, however.”

 

“No rings?” he asked. 

 

“She didn’ send any with this set,” Evelyn smiled. Damn, that didn’t help him. He still didn’t know if she wore rings.

 

She moved to remove her necklace. Cullen’s hands stilled hers as he stood behind her back. He looked at her in the mirror, seeing the blush creep from the curves of her breasts and up her chest, his body against hers. “Leave them,” he said and she lowered her hands. He tucked her hair behind her ear to reveal a glittering earring. “They’re beautiful.”

 

“Mm,” she murmured, her blush creeping up her chest. He nuzzled her hair, his fingers undoing the knot of her sash around her waist as she watched him in the mirror. The cloth of the sash flowed over her hips as it fell to the floor. He kissed her ear, her head tilting to reveal the column of her neck adorned with jewels. He smiled. After so long, he should make her feel good. He knew how to do that, with a bit of difference thrown in to make things… exciting. 

 

He breathed in of her skin as he kissed her neck. She smelled of lavender. She always did. She bit her lip and tried to turn in his arms. He held her shoulders still, then reached up to undo the lacing of her dress. Little by little, dropping kisses and nips on her neck and shoulders, he loosened her dress. Then his eyes caught hers in the mirror and the dress fell from her body, flowing over the curves of her bare breasts and hips. She was clad only in her small clothes now, while he was still fully dressed. He reached down and slipped her small clothes off, his lips parting hungrily. She was naked in the mirror, and her necklace glittered on her skin in a surprisingly alluring way. With her ripe breasts, her pert nipples, her curving hips against his and all adorned in jewels. She was like royalty. She was like treasure. 

 

She was his, and he ached for her. Why did he wait so long?

 

He drew his fingers up her arms and she shuddered, her flush claiming her cheeks now. She turned against him, pressing her body back against his as she kissed him deeply, her hand reaching up to entwine in his hair. Cullen ground against her hips, his breeches growing more constricting by the minute. His hands reached around and cupped her breasts, his fingers flicking her pert nipples as she whimpered against his lips. Her hand found his growing length between them and stroked it. He was breathless already. He wanted it as much as she did. His hand slid down, finding her quim. She spread her legs slightly as his middle finger slipped between her folds, stroking the length of her sex. She was already moist. His tongue found her ear, licking the lobe around her diamond earring as his finger teased her. Then he pressed down on her bud and a moan escaped her lips. 

 

He watched her in the mirror as he drew his hand up from her sex and wet his fingertips with his tongue almost blatantly. Her eyes were mesmerised on him as he lowered his hand to her quim once more and started to rub her bud. He knew the way she liked to be rubbed, and her moan came louder, broken by sharp intakes of breath. She leaned her hands on the dresser, her fingers pushing aside powder boxes and bottles. His breath on her ear, his fingers moved faster as she ground against him. Watching her writhe in the mirror was more enticing than he thought. She was self conscious before the mirror, and tried to contain herself. But his fingers moved faster upon her, making her control a torture. She was breathing faster, her head back next to his as he leaned against her, his fingers never relenting. 

 

She shut her eyes. “Look at you,” he breathed in her ear. The pleasure rising, she opened her eyes, looking at him in the mirror as he watched her writhe, her gaze drawn down to his fingers moving faster. Then she came, crying out as she shuddered, her breath fogging the mirror as she leaned forward on her arms. He held her as the orgasm raked through her, his fingers stilled, but still hot against her. The last thing he wanted was for her to hit her head. When she lifted her head and opened her eyes again, Cullen smirked at her in the mirror and brought his fingers from her sex to his lips, and licked them as she watched. “Maker,” she whimpered, watching him. 

 

He turned her around to face him, still pressing her against the dresser. She kicked away her dress as shawl as she turned, reaching for his length which was straining against his breeches now. But he pulled her hands away, kissing her. She returned the kiss hungrily, tasting herself on his tongue. He lifted her until she was slightly seated on the dresser, her hips rolled forward at the edge. Cullen knelt down, his eyes locked on hers as he slipped one leg over his shoulder. “Cullen,” she pleaded. The smell of her sex was strong as he kissed her thigh on his shoulder, biting her soft flesh lightly. Then his eyes locked on hers, he drew his tongue over her folds from bottom to top. She gasped sharply. He did it again, the heat of his tongue against her glistening skin making him breathless. He teased her with the tip of his tongue, flicking her bud, playing with her folds, tugging them lightly in his lips. Her fingers entwined in his hair as she rolled her hips against him, rubbing her quim on his tongue. It was time she came again. He slipped a finger into her, and then another, and then lowered his lips to her quim once more. 

 

She started to gasp as his fingers and tongue pleasured her. She was pulling on his hair and it felt good. He kept going, spearing his fingers into her, teasing the spot within her that she loved, his lips and tongue pleasuring her bud. He heard something fall and break and he didn’t care. She cried out, the way he loved to hear, she was close, her body shaking again, her thigh on his shoulder quivering. Her leg hooked him as she drew close and fell over the edge of pleasure. Cullen felt a wetness hit his chin and run down his hand, sliding over his tongue. He gasped against her, her cries echoing in the room, her thighs gripping his head, more things clattered from the dresser top to the ground. He was breathless when she let him go, his chin wet and his uniform spotted. Thank goodness he had spares. He looked up at her, her body flushed from cheeks to navel, her head thrown back in a silent shudder of pure pleasure. Perfect.

 

She looked down at him and grabbed his collar, pulling him up to her. He slipped his fingers from inside her, pressing down on the length of her quim, soothing her. She kissed him hotly, her tongue drawing over his lips in abandon, drinking from the wetness there. “You’re going to kill me,” she breathed. 

 

“It’ll feel good at least,” he purred.

 

She kissed him again, pulling him to the bed as their lips locked. He felt his leg catch against hers and he was thrown back down onto the mattress. It was like landing on a cloud. He looked up at her straddling him, her hair messy, her eyes hungry, jewels on her neck and ears glittering like stars. She undid his sash, pushing the badges aside as she ground against his length through his breeches with her naked sex. His hands found her breasts and squeezed them as she opened his shirt. She liked being on top. He didn’t mind in the least. His uniform was in disarray as she pulled his shirt open and lowered her lips to his nipple. He gasped and pressed his head back into the mattress, pleasure lancing through him, making his length jump against her. “Stop!” he hissed. She smiled and did so, leaving his nipple. If she did that, the evening would end much too soon, but she loved to torture him despite it. 

 

Evelyn moved down between his legs, and he knew what was coming. Propping himself up on his elbows, he watched her undo his breeches, pulling them down over his bottom and off his legs entirely. “Look at you,” she breathed, stroking his length. A gasp slipped from his lips. “You look so delicious laying there in your uniform.” She lay down between his legs, her cheek close to his length, already dripping from the tip. She pulled the skin back and licked her lips. She was good at this. He was breathless with the anticipation. “Pup…” And she licked him from base to tip. He moaned and lay back, enjoying every minute of it. Her tongue flicks, her licks, the way she would cup him with her hand, how she would lower her head right down and nuzzle her nose in his blonde fuzz at the base as his tip burned in the hot wetness of her throat. He leaned his head back and moaned. She had a way of… of swallowing while she did this, her throat carressing his tip. “Oh, Maker,” he grunted. She lifted her head with a gasp as she caught her breath, her lips wet, his shaft glistening. Cullen bit his lip and held the base of his length, pulling himself back from the edge. Not yet…

 

She chuckled, seeing him do this. “Don’t worry,” she said as she climbed over him, stroking his length with the swollen folds of her wet quim as it lay against his stomach. “I’m going to fuck you,” she breathed. His heart jumped as he looked up at her. She was going to talk. This was going to kill him. She reached down and set the head at her sex, the heat of her vivid against the cool wetness of the air. She teased, rubbing the head against her. “Maker’s breath,” Cullen grit his teeth.

 

“Do you want me to sit on your cock?” she purred. 

 

“Yes,” he croaked. 

 

“Say it.”

 

“Sit on my cock, Evelyn…”

 

Her lips parted hungrily as she looked at him. “What’s that?” she asked. 

 

“Sit on my fucking cock!”    
  


Her chest rose with her breathing as he spoke. She liked this as much as he did. Slowly, she slipped him in. He lay back, his eyes shut in pleasure, his mind focused on the heat enveloping his length. He moaned as she sat down on him fully, feeling her insides gripping him. “Fuck,” he growled. 

 

She mewled softly, gently gyrating her hips, moving his length inside her. He gripped her thighs and moved her hips with his hands. “Do you like this?” she asked, her shoulders arched as she looked at him, her fingers teasing his nipples. Cullen bit his lip as he moved her hips faster on his length. She gasped in pleasure. “You like having your cock inside me, Inquisitor?” Oh, maker. His breath poured from parted lips now as she rode him, her hips gyrating, her breasts mirroring her movements and making her necklace sparkle on her skin. She gripped his shirt lapels. “You like fucking your Commander, do you? You look so hot in your uniform. You didn’t even take it off to fuck me--” 

 

He grunted and pounded into her, the sound of their bodies meeting punctuating her words. She mewled and moaned and, as their eyes locked, she reached down to touch her sex, rubbing herself. Her insides moved when she did, Cullen didn’t know if she knew, but he moaned, gritting his teeth as he fucked her. “Yes,” she breathed. “Oh Maker… Cullen, my lion, fuck me... “ She moaned, leaning forward over him, her hands caressing his pecs as he pounded into her. “Come in me,” she begged. “Take me, fuck me, Maker yes!” There was nothing else in his universe now but the meeting of their bodies and her words in his ears. He was grunting as he held her hips aloft, pumping into her like a piston. She cried out in pleasure, her own orgasm tearing through her, her gasps and her writhing insides milking him. “Cullen, your cock feels so good,” she whimpered and threw her head back, her fingers twisting his nipples. 

 

He cried out, guttural and deep, his hips ramming into her one last time. Every muscle tensed as she moaned in hot pleasure above him, waves of pleasure running through him from head to toe as he groaned and shook with the intensity of the moment. He lowered his hips at last, his thighs still shaking, his abdomen tensed from the orgasm. He caught his breath as the tatters of his orgasm left him. There were stars in his eyes when he looked up at the ceiling, the curtains bound to their golden ring above them. Evelyn leaned over him, kissing his ear as he came down from the high. “Maker’s breath…” Cullen gasped, his throat dry. 

 

She tittered softly as she wrapped her arm around his head. “My lion,” she breathed against his ear. “Always, my lion.”

 

He smirked, wrapping his still quivering arms around her as she lay on him, his length slipping from inside her. Their bodies were slick with sweat as he held her. “Always,” he whispered and kissed her tenderly. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah smut, my old friend... we meet again.
> 
> Are my chapters getting too long or something?


	48. Puppies and Proposals - Trespasser

If there was one good thing about Halamshiral, it was the adjoining baths to the bedrooms. Water was piped in through the walls and into brass tubs. He awoke, had a bath and sank into the water feeling utterly sated. Evelyn was still sleeping despite the sunlight. He was inclined to let her. She was usually up before dawn, but here in Halamshiral, there were no drills. Once in a while, he liked that she rested. When he was finished with his bath, she was already awake, naked and digging through her chest. “Something wrong, pup?” he asked, standing in a towel.

 

She looked up and bit her thumb nail, looking troubled. “I didn’t bring my witherstalk,” she said. “I thought I did, but I can’t find it.”

 

“Oh,” Cullen said. He had spilled right into her as he always did, but she always had her witherstalk. “I’m sure it’s fine, right?” he asked. “It’s just once.”

 

“I suppose,” she smiled. “I’ll buy some later if I have to. It’s just once, anyway.”

 

He smiled and kissed her cheek, hugging her from behind. “We should do that more often,” he said against her hair.

 

“I’ll say,” she agreed emphatically.

 

Cullen chuckled. “I’ll do better, pup. I shouldn’t have neglected you.”

 

She looked over her shoulder, smiling affectionately. She nudged him playfully. “We’ll do better,” she said.

 

Cullen smiled, looking at her breasts over her shoulder. The summit wasn’t till tomorrow. He had the day… Evelyn squealed as he lifted her off her feet and carried her back to the bed. She giggled despite herself, stopping only when he leaned over her to kiss her again. He wouldn’t spill in her this time.

 

+++++

 

It was later in the day when Rylen unfortunately stole Evelyn away with reports. Cullen made a special point to keep his nose out of running the troops and respect the reports she gave him. So he was left to his own devices again. But he had all these old friends. He doubted he would be lonely.

 

He donned himself in his formal uniform and headed out to the gardens. A servant came up to him quickly. “Your worship, Madame Vivienne requests your presence at the Garden Spas.”

 

Cullen frowned slightly and followed the servant through the gardens. The Gardens Spas were a place Cullen hadn’t expected to wind up at. It was a building made of delicate marble that featured waterfalls along the walls. Cullen eyed the place. Someone walked past him in a bathing suit. What…

 

“Darling you made it! Wonderful!” Vivienne swept her way to him, looking as amazing as ever.

 

“Madame Vivienne!” Cullen smiled.

 

She hooked her arm in his. “I scheduled this appointment ages ago, darling, and they do appreciate punctuality.”

 

She swept him into the doors of the spa. “Appointment?” Cullen blinked. The interior of the spa was lavishly Orlesian. She sat him down on a plush sofa as the sound of waterfalls filled the air with trickling laughter. “At the Imperial Garden Spa, of course,” Vivienne purred, a servant bringing them delicate glasses of sherry. “You work so hard, my dear, I wanted to treat you.”

 

“To a spa?” Cullen asked as an attendant came and started to remove his boots and gloves. “Truly?”

 

They set a basin of water filled with petals and washed his feet. Cullen glanced at Vivienne, who was being similarly pampered. “I’ve never tried a spa before,” he admitted.

 

“Naturally,” said Vivienne. “I don’t expect that you have, but this place works wonders, darling. Especially their hair treatments.”

 

“Truly?” Cullen sounded a little more excited. Well, it was a lovely day, might as well enjoy it.

 

After a delightfully pampered hour, Cullen found himself laying back on a table in a bathing suit as the attendant massaged his shoulders. It was awkward at first, but Cullen found he could really get used to this. “What are the cheese wheels for?” Cullen asked as the tiny wheels of cheese sat on his eyes.

 

“It pains me that you even have to ask,” Vivienne said from the table next to him. “Clearly, you’ve been living too long in barely civilised conditions.”

 

“Isn’t that most of Ferelden?” he asked. There was a distant mocking laughter in the distance. “Did you hear something?”

 

“Relax darling, it’s spa day,” Vivienne said. “How have you been? It’s been ages since we’ve spoken. How are you and that delightful Commander Evelyn?”

 

He smiled faintly. “Are you asking for details, Lady Vivienne?”

 

“Merely expressing concern for your well being, my dear,” Vivienne replied coolly.

 

“We are good together,” Cullen replied.

 

“And the rumours of you both making this arrangement permanent?”

 

Cullen winced inwardly. “I’m working on it,” he said.

 

“How wonderful!” Vivienne said. “And the reason for your hesitation?”

 

Cullen sighed. “There’s a certain protocol--”

 

Vivienne laughed. “Darling, you are above protocol,” she said. “You’d think you’d see that by now. Just take what you want, my dear, no one is going to object - or at least, there’s little that they can do about it.”

 

Cullen chuckled. “That’s one way of looking at it,” he said. “Do you come here often, Vivienne?”

 

“Once or twice a year, sadly. Duty first.”

 

Someone came and took off the cheese wheels from his eyes. He blinked and saw the place beyond the archway a mess with scattered flowers. “What happened?” Cullen said.

 

“Don’t fret, dear, it’s spa day! You’ll undo all the good they’re done.” They ended the spa day with more sherry. Cullen was feeling surprisingly relaxed. And the hair treatment had been pretty good. Not that he would tell anyone he’d been there, of course, he couldn’t deny the good the spa had done for him.

 

After bidding Vivienne goodbye, Cullen explored the gardens. There was a merchant’s alley with quite a few merchants there. Cullen was perhaps a little surprised, but what else was he expecting? When diplomats were done talking, they spent money. He walked over, browsing the wares, feeling like a bit of a loose end. There were nobles browsing the wares, and Cullen was happy to be left alone by them. That was a little surprising, actually. Nevertheless, the merchants were genteely calling out their wares. Cullen walked up to one merchant who displayed jewelry. “Inquisitor,” the fat merchant bowed, his voice heavy with an Antivan accent. “Lucio is humbled by your presence.”

 

Cullen smiled at him and looked at the displayed wares, his hands in his pocket. There were rings. Lots of rings. His expression became even more puzzled. “Are you looking for a gift, your worship?” Lucio asked, moving the tray of rings for his viewing.

 

“I… suppose,” Cullen said. “A ring, perhaps.”

 

“Lucio sells the finest rings, the most beautiful gems, at the best prices.” Lucio waved his hand over the gold. “What sort does the lucky lady fancy?”

 

“Uh… she’s never worn a ring. I think. I’ve never seen her wear one.”

 

“Ah, the quandry of all men,” Lucio said sagely. “Women’s taste can be fickle, but perhaps Lucio can help you select one that will make her eyes sparkle. What does she like?”

 

“Swords,” Cullen said immediately. “Pommels. Cats. Sewing clothes for-- That’s all probably not helpful.”

 

“Perhaps the colour of her eyes?” Lucio suggested.

 

“They’re blue. Light blue.”

 

Lucio pulled in a pair of velvet gloves and drew out a ring from the many on the tray. Its blue gem caught the light, mounted on a ring of gold. Lucio put it in Cullen’s hand. Cullen held it. It was a ring. He felt a little frustrated that he couldn’t tell if it were nice or not. It really was just a ring, and he had never in his life been interested in jewelry. He turned it over. “It’s big,” he noted.

 

“Yes. Finest topaz mined from the depths of Kal Sharok, hewn from close to a vein of lyrium, it glitters in the night,” said Lucio. Cullen doubted that. The ring did not sing.

 

“It’s pretty bulky too,” he noted. “Could you draw a sword with this?”

 

Lucio looked at him. “Your worship?”

 

“Presuming you’re wearing this… under mail, perhaps? No, under leather. It would stick out from the finger greaves.” He frowned and returned the ring. “Possibly not.”

 

“Perhaps another?” Lucio said, looking over his tray. Cullen looked over the merchant’s shoulder. There was a cage within. “How about this one? A gem to shame the very--”

 

“Is that a mabari?” Cullen asked.

 

Lucio looked over his shoulder. In the cage, there was indeed a mabari. The beast was black with yellow eyes, looking somewhat mournfully out from between the bars. “Indeed,” Lucio said.

 

“I’m surprised. I didn’t know they bred mabari in Orlais.”

 

“Oh he was not bred here. He was abandoned. He has been useful to deter thieves, however.”

 

“He’s imprinted on you?” Cullen asked, somewhat surprised.

 

“Ah, no, he stays in the cage.” Lucio held up the ring. “Now this one--”

 

“That’s rather sad,” Cullen said, the dog eyeing him. Another Fereldan trapped in Orlais. And in a cage. At least Cullen could walk about.

 

Lucio looked at Cullen, then at the dog. “Your worship likes the dog?”

 

Cullen glanced at him. “Well, I suppose I do,” he admitted.

 

Lucio bowed. “Then the dog is yours, your worship.”

 

“What?” Cullen exclaimed.

 

“Indeed, a token of Lucio’s respect, Inquisitor.”

 

The mabari perked up in its cage. It cowered when Lucio approached, whining. Lucio took a heavy chain and reached into the cage, wrapping it around the dog’s neck. Then he opened the cage and led the dog out, tail between its legs. Cullen felt a pang for the beast. Locked in a cage and probably not treated well… he knew how that felt. Lucio placed the chain in Cullen’s hands. “I’m… thank you, Lucio,” Cullen said. “This was unexpected.”

 

“You saved the world, I think a dog is a small token ot thanks from a humble merchant.”

 

Cullen looked down at the dog. It eyed him mournfully as he held the chain. Cullen smiled at Lucio and walked away with the dog on the chain. Cullen glanced at the dog. It cringed as it walked. Cullen hated that. He sighed and led the dog out of the merchant’s alley and into a quiet corner of the garden. When they were alone, Cullen knelt down and slipped the chain off the dog’s neck as the beast cowered in front of him. He tossed the chain aside and sat down in front of the mabari, not touching it.

 

It had been over twenty years since he had a dog. But if the animal was too scared with him he knew better than to keep it. He watched the mabari, who eyed him back. The mabari sniffed him warily. “No more cages now,” Cullen smiled at the dog. “But I know how this goes. If you don’t pick me, it’s fine. We’ll find someone for you. We Fereldans should stick together.”

 

The dog eyed him, more understanding in those eyes than Cullen had expected. He was… hopeful. It was a mabari! But he couldn’t be selfish. The dog had a hard enough life as it was. But, he was hopeful nonetheless.

 

The dog whined and stepped forward, setting its head on Cullen’s chest. Cullen grinned as he scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Yay,” he cheered quietly. “I’ve got you, buddy. I’ll get you away from all these Orlesians, I promise.” The mabari whined and wagged its tail a little. “Yay,” Cullen cheered again.

 

Cullen stood up, the dog eyeing him, its tail wagging as it followed him. “Let’s get some things,” he said to the dog. It barked in response. Cullen grinned. Cullen was beyond happy. A mabari! And it chose him! “What do you want?” Cullen asked the dog. “Balls? Treats? No leads.” The dog barked brightly.

 

Cullen froze and turned to the dog. “Listen,” he said sternly, his arms crossed. “We have a cat. I expect discipline. I expect you to follow orders.” The dog barked deeply, sounding almost serious. Cullen was a little surprised. Did it really understand him? “And you’re not to eat the cat.”

 

The dog whined, its ears perked up at him. “I’m serious. Don’t. Evelyn will kill you, then me.”

 

The dog barked. Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Right, then we’re in agreement.” He turned and walked on, the mabari following him cheerfully. Cullen was a little shocked at the price of dog things. Seriously, dog treats should not be that expensive. Bloody overpriced Orlesian things. He headed through the alley, smiling at Lucio who watched him pass with a look of surprise.

 

Cullen had what he needed, though. He settled down in the quiet corner of the garden once more, kicking the chain away. The dog sniffed at the woven bag he carried everything in. “Right, treats are to be earned,” Cullen said as the dog eyed the packet of treats. “They’re expensive. It’s madness.” He pulled out the ball. The dog eyed it, ears perked. He tossed the ball in his hand. The dog whined, standing, eyeing the ball.

 

Cullen smiled and stood up. “Right, now mabari are war dogs,” Cullen said. “We face a few mages in our line, so you’re going to learn the basics.” The dog barked. It seemed to understand. It eyed the ball. “Now, say this is a fireball,’ he said, bending down to talk to the dog, his voice taking the tone of instruction. “For projectile spells, you want to dodge as far as possible. Don’t try to engage. Stay here.”

 

Cullen walked away with the ball in hand. The dog followed. Cullen stopped. “Stay,” he said firmly. The dog sat, whining plaintively.

 

Cullen walked a distance away. “Now, dodge!” Cullen called to the dog. He threw the ball. The dog ran and caught it in his jaws. Then, with joy in his steps, the dog ran to Cullen and reared up, paws on Cullen’s shoulders nearly making Cullen stumble. “Wrong!” Cullen scolded. The dog pushed the ball at his face. He took it. It was covered with slobber. Cullen laughed despite himself. “Dodge!” Cullen repeated. “Go back!” The dog ran back a distance and turned, dancing excitedly. It barked insistently. “Dodge!” Cullen threw the ball and groaned when the dog ran for the ball and caught it. “I said ‘dodge,’ not ‘catch!” Cullen scolded as the dog ran excitedly back to him. “If this were a fireball, you’d be dead! Don’t!” He held his hand out just as the dog reached him. The dog halted, holding the ball in its mouth.

 

“You... found a dog?” Cullen turned. Evelyn watched him with an amused expression, her arms crossed as she looked at him.

 

Cullen looked down at the dog. “They don’t breed mabari in Orlais,” he explained. “The merchant said he was abandoned… Perhaps his owner tired of the novelty.”

 

“Tire of you?” Evelyn gasped at the dog. “With that positive attitude and fetching ability?”

 

The dog dropped the ball and barked. “He’s not supposed to fetch it,” Cullen sighed.

 

She laughed. “I don’t think you understand how this works,” she said warmly. “Is this your first dog?”

 

“Not since I was a child,” Cullen admitted. “The Circles aren’t keen on pets, Kirkwall’s especially.”

 

“And now you’re teaching it to dodge fireballs because…”  Evelyn asked curiously.

 

“Well… just in case something may happen,” he said, taking the ball from the dog. “Not that it would necessarily involve fire, or… balls.” He felt a little embarrassed, but Evelyn just tittered.

 

“You should take him to Ferelden,” she said brightly as she knelt to hold her hand out to the dog. “He should know where he came from.”

 

“I did promise Mia a visit,” Cullen smiled. “She might try to spoil you, dog. Remember who you report to.” Dog was sniffing her hand. She pat the animal on is head. Cullen watched her. He didn’t have a ring. He ended up getting a dog. Which was besides the point. He loved her. He chose her every day. What wat the point of the plan if it kept him away from her. She smiled as she stood, wiping her hand on her hip. Cullen smiled slowly. She looked up at him and he had never felt more sure in his life. “Marry me,” he said.

 

Her eyes widened. Dog barked excitedly. “What?” she exclaimed.

 

Blast! He could have said it better! “I mean, will you--” He sighed. Of all the ways he thought he’d say those words, it came out like that. He rubbed the back of his neck as she stared at him, a slow blush creeping to her cheeks. “I… I had a plan, and...” he admitted. “And there wasn’t a dog in it, but you were…” She was staring at him, her eyes wide and frozen in surprise. He shook his head, realizing he was rambling. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. He smiled at her, casting all thoughts of his plan aside. He took her hand in his, holding it to his chest. “I’ve thought of little else, and I don’t need a plan… only to know if you would.”

 

Her eyes grew liquid, and she blinked the tears away. “I would,” she said, breathless. She was crying. He smiled in affection. “Cullen… I will!”

 

“You will,” he breathed, his heart lifting. His eyes were soft as he cradled the back of her head and leaned down to kiss her. She was shaking as their lips touched. She sniffed when she pulled away, covering her face as she cried into her hands. Dog whined beside them. “Oh, pup,” he said, embracing her, feeling her fingers grasp his uniform. He blinked himself, stopping his own tears from flowing. Her tears flowed when she was happy, and sometimes, his did too. He tried to contain himself, holding her as her cries raked through her. When she finally calmed, she looked up at him with her face wet with tears. He wiped them from her cheeks with his thumb. “I love you,” she whispered.

 

“And I you,” he murmured. He chuckled when he saw her tear up again. “Do you want to hear something else that will make you cry?”

 

“What?” she asked, her voice shaking.

 

“I spent so long worrying about the plan, waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect words and… ring and everything. But none of that mattered. It’s perfect because you said yes.”

 

She winced and teared up even more, her hand thumping his chest. “Why are you so wonderful?” she wept and hugged him fiercely. He laughed, his own eyes watering as he embraced her fondly.

 

Dog barked inquisitively. “Don’t question your superiors,” Cullen told it. Dog whined.

 

Evelyn sniffed as she pulled herself together. “Maker’s breath, love,” she murmured, wiping her eyes, smiling despite her tear-wet cheeks. “I’m so happy. I thought yesterday… after you were talking with Josephine and Cassandra… I thought you were unhappy somehow!”

 

Cullen felt the pang of her words. “No,” he said. “I honestly… I didn’t know how to ask you. They were giving me, um, advice. I didn’t want you to find out.”

 

She laughed despite herself and blinked away the tears. “But… but people will notice the Inquisitor marrying his Commander in the middle of the Exalted Council.”

 

“It won’t go over well,” he said. “But we know a few people who can keep things… secret.”

 

Her eyes widened. “Secret… you’re serious?” she breathed.

 

“Before you come to your senses and change your mind,” he teased.

 

“Cullen!” she laughed. She tiptoed and kissed him, holding his face in her hands. Dog whined beside them, laying down mournfully as he watched them. “Tonight,” she breathed. “I’ll call the others - Varric and Cass and all the rest. We’ll… we’ll do it here. Late - no one will know. Then drinks in the tavern, if I know Bull.”

 

“They would want to be there, wouldn’t they?” he grinned as he held her. “Just a small ceremony. It doesn’t have to be any more special than it already is. I’ll ask Mother Giselle.”

 

“I’m going to find Josephine,” she said breathlessly. “No, wait, I have to meet Rylen. Then I’ll find Josephine. And a dress, and shoes.” She bit her lip thoughtfully. “We don’t need rings, do we?”

 

Cullen stared at her. “Do we?”

 

“Can we exchange engagement swords?” she asked hopefully. “Rings catch on stuff.”

 

He burst out laughing. He had been right about her all along. “That is why I love you, pup.” Dog barked. “Swords it is. But perhaps after the ceremony.”

 

She flashed him a grin and stole another kiss. “See you tonight, love!” she called and ran off towards the palace.

   


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive! Been working on a side project with a couple of other writers here. Victorian Steampunk AU Thedas [ The Crimson Tide ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6147820/chapters/14098748) Pop by and give it a look see, chapters are far shorter. Cullen and Evie are featured, obviously.


	49. Wedding Bells and Farewells - Trespasser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed, beware!

Truth be told, Cullen could remember little of the rest of the day. He recalled talking to people, and lots of… slaps on the back? There was some screaming. Sera screamed, that he recalled distinctly. As did Josephine. Dorian whisked him away to do his hair, which Cullen felt only slightly insulted by through the dazed state. It was all… private. Secret. Only his closest friends in the Inquisition knew and the preparations buzzed among them, a shared secret, something… wonderful. Cullen had honestly just envisioned everyone perhaps… standing around the gazebo and the vows would be exchanged. Then drinks. Or… something else. With Evie. Their first ‘official’ time. Which meant witherstalk wouldn’t be a problem. 

 

The day had passed by in a blur, and he eventually found himself in the gardens again as night had fallen, standing by the gazebo. He was in his formal uniform, hair styled a little taller than he would normally done, and waiting, his heart in his throat. Why was he so nervous? It wasn’t as if the wedding were a surprise to him. He had his vows. Did he? Maker what if he forgot what to say. Would he ruin-- no, don’t think about that, just--

 

Someone nudged him in the lower arm. “Curly, you kind of need to breathe when you’re standing there,” Varric chuckled up at him. Beside the dwarf, Dog sat looking up at him, panting happily, as if he understood. “If you pass out, I have to marry Chuckles and she’s still a little tall for me.”

 

“Mmhm,” Cullen managed, suddenly a bundle of nerves. Mother Giselle chuckled behind him. This was daft! It was Evelyn! Why was he nervous about this? He felt for stupid for feeling nervous and then felt stupid for being so… stupid. And he needed to just breathe. Just breathe. Cassandra was smiling with a certain wistfulness as Hawke, fresh from his travels, stood next to her. “I hope you’re taking notes,” Cassandra said to Hawke.

 

“I wrote the book on romance,” Hawke replied loftily. “Or rather, I know the dwarf who wrote the book on romance.”

 

Cullen chuckled at that. It helped. Then Evelyn came up to the back of the crowd of their gathered friends, Josephine and Leliana following her. Cullen’s eyes fell on her, his heart hammering even louder in his chest. She was wearing a cloak, which Leliana helped her pull off and hold. Evelyn was in a white dress. Somehow, she had found one. Her shoulders were bared, and her short hair was intricately braided despite its length. And on her head, a crown of flowers. Just like they did in Honnleath. Maker, she was… beautiful. She would always be beautiful… in her strange quirks and humours, in her ferocity, in her kindness, in her fiery emotions. She was his. She turned to him, her blue eyes liquid. What had he done to deserve this?

 

Josephine readied to walk with Evelyn as his friends parted to form a little aisle, but Evelyn was having none of that. She ran down the aisle and threw her arms around his neck. Cullen laughed despite himself as he caught her, holding her off the ground easily. Her hair smelled of lilies… She looked at him as he held her. 

 

“No kissing yet,” Mother Giselle pointed out. 

 

“Sorry!” Evelyn said and let go of him. There were titters from the others present. She blushed rosily and cleared her throat. He took her hands in his as they faced each other. He saw Evelyn draw a deep breath as she held his hands, her fingers slightly quivering. She was muttering something under her breath. Cullen strained to hear it. “Don’t cry, don’t cry don’t cry,” went her litany. He smiled, squeezing her hands reassuringly. She looked up at him, biting her lip. 

 

“Just now,” Cullen whispered, holding her hands, tiny and trembling, in his. “Everything feels like it was worth fighting for.”

 

She smiled up at him. “It was,” she whispered back. A tear ran down her cheek. Cullen fought to keep himself in check. Sometimes, her emotions swept up all in their wake, especially him. 

 

“This is…” he began.

 

“This is the part where we begin,” Mother Giselle smiled. 

 

“Right,” Cullen cleared his throat. And Mother Giselle started talking. About… love and the Maker’s will. The words swirled in Cullen’s head as his gaze rested on Evelyn, her trembling slowly ceasing as the speech went on. Someone was crying in the audience, it was probably Cassandra. Cullen did not turn to see. Then Mother Giselle stopped speaking. “Have you your vows?” She asked. 

 

“Y-yes,” Evelyn said. She gripped his hands tighter. “I… I am not. That is, I mean to say--” She lifted her head, blinking back tears. “You… I’m glad you came to Kirkwall. You were - a good knight. Good sword form and footwork and knew the regulations and hardly ever late with paperwork and I am so terrible at this! I forgot everything Varric helped me with!” 

 

Cullen heard Varric’s palm his his forehead. 

 

“But… but I love you. I don’t know how to say it, so I’ll… show it. S-so I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love you for the rest of my days.”

 

Cullen was desperately trying not to laugh. “Hardly ever late?”

 

Evelyn smiled impishly, still blinking back the tears. Cullen matched her smile. “You are…” And there were no words. She was everything. Everything, and no words would suffice. Anything he said would be insufficient for how grateful he was to have found her despite his mistakes and his follies and his brokeness. Her eyes locked with his and it passed between them, her hands tightening on his as she smiled. She understood. Varric nudged Cullen in the back. “Y-you have really excellent half-blading skills for one so small and your murder strike is impressive--” Argh! What was he saying? Evelyn laughed, however.

 

“Are they getting married or hiring each other for the army?” Dorian muttered in the crowd. 

 

“And I… and I am - I am blessed beyond measure to be here with you,” Cullen continued. “So for that… a thousand other things I’ll… whisper to you in private… I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love you for the rest of my days.”

 

They stared at each other and both tried not to laugh. “Then in the eyes of the Maker, I pronounce you husband and wife,” Mother Giselle said, a lilt of suppressed laughter in her voice. “And what the Maker has brought together, let no man tear apart.”

 

Cullen leaned in then for a dignified kiss - which didn’t happen. Evelyn kissed him with all the fire he had grown to love in her. It was a little embarrassing, but it was… perfect. And then her tears fell and she started to cry, clinging to him as the others gathered around them. Cullen laughed, realizing his eyes were wet too. Maker… He never cried about… anything good in his life. This was hopefully the first of many tears shed for good things. Maker willing.

 

++++++

 

There was singing now. The wedding party had taken over the entire tavern. Evelyn’s laughter was rising above the song. Cullen had been drinking, quite a bit, but he needed to get away for a breath of fresh air. He stepped out to the gardens as music and singing spilled out into the darkness from behind him. To his surprise, he saw Dorian there, leaning against a stone parapet, looking out at the lit city of Halamshiral, glittering like stars below them. He ambled over, drink in hand. “A married man now, I see,” Dorian said brightly as Cullen walked up to him. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

 

“Me too,” Cullen admitted as he leaned his elbows on the parapet beside Dorian. “It’s been two years and she hasn’t tired of me yet. Might as well lock her down before she comes to her senses.”

 

“Two years of living in sin, what scandal, Inquisitor!” Dorian teased. 

 

Cullen laughed, his cheeks warm from the drink. “I’m sure there’ll be… a bit of sinning, here and there between us. The Chantry is oddly picky about the subject of- of--”

 

“Bodily functions?”

 

“That’s one way of putting it.” Cullen grinned at Dorian. “It’s good to have everyone back together.”

 

“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Dorian glanced away. 

 

Cullen knew that look. “Alright, tell me,” he said. 

 

“Very well,” Dorian sighed. “You are breathtakingly attractive, Cullen. I rue this day for I can no longer dream of your soft lips or blushing cheeks or sweet, sweet tongue, for you are now spoken for by a wonderful woman whom I wouldn’t hurt if my life depended on it.” He waved his hand mournfully as he spoke. 

 

“That’s not it, I’m sure!” Cullen sputtered, blushing furiously. Over two years and Dorian was not letting that… kiss lie. 

 

Dorian chuckled. “What makes you think so?”

 

“You’re changing the subject,” Cullen said. “Come on, tell me.”

 

Dorian sighed once more, sincerely this time. “Once this is over, I will be returning to Tevinter… for good this time.” 

 

Cullen stared at him, his heart growing heavy. “For good?” He asked quietly.

 

“For good,” Dorian said heavily. 

 

Cullen looked out over the city. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

 

“Frankly, I was dreading this conversation, but here it is.” Dorian leaned his elbows on the parapet.

 

Cullen looked at his friend, seeing a tightness in his eyes. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

 

“Astute as ever, Cullen,” Dorian smiled, a little self-mockingly. “One can’t hide anything from you.” Cullen said nothing, giving him time to work himself up to the real issue. Dorian sighed again, heavily, running his hand over his impeccable mustache. “My father is dead, Cullen.”

 

Cullen stared at him. “What?” He breathed. 

 

“Yes, assassinated, I believe.”

 

“Maker… Dorian, I’m so sorry…”

 

Dorian waved his hand at that. “You needn’t be, but thank you. The ones who should be sorry are the fools who assassinated him. And believe me, they soon will be.”

 

Cullen put his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Are you alright?” He asked gently.

 

“It still… doesn’t feel real,” Dorian said. “I am glad you dragged me to talk to him all those years ago. I managed to salvage something. We only met a few times when I was home, and he didn’t mention anything about keeping me as his heir. Even this… “ambassadorship.” I’m told it was his doing. He must have wanted me away from home when the trouble began.” Dorian pat his hand on his shoulder gratefully. Cullen lowered it and looked away. So caught up in his own wedding, Cullen hadn’t even noticed his friend in his hour of need. Dorian seemed to read his mind. “Oh come now, stop that!” Dorian said quickly. “It’s your wedding day! Don’t pout! They’ll put that expression on a statue, then you’ll be sorry.”

 

“No statues,” Cullen said immediately.

 

“You’ve yet to fully accept your fate, I see,” Dorian smiled at him. “I actually recieved word this morning, too - a perversely cheerful letter congratulating me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium.”

 

“Seats pass down that way?”

 

“Of course. Breeding, remember?”

 

“Magister Dorian Pavus,” Cullen smiled faintly.

 

“Oh yes! I can’t wait to grace the Magisterium with my presence, a new outfit will be required.”

 

“I’m sure it will dazzle.”

 

“Naturally! You do your flea-bitten Fereldan look and I’ll do mine!”

 

Cullen’s smile broadened. “And what then?”

 

“I find my father’s killers and kill them back! Then I find those giving Tevinter a bad name, and kill them too! They’re most likely the same people, so that should make my job easier.”

 

Cullen chuckled despite himself. “You were good at killing things,” he said. “Do you need help?”

 

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” said Dorian. “I won’t be entirely without support. Maeveris has gathered other magisters who feel as we do. We’ll be an actual faction in the Magisterium! I’ll teach them manners - take them shopping! It’ll be fun!”

 

Cullen’s smile turned rueful. “I will miss you, Dorian,” he admitted. 

 

“What? Sentimentality?” Dorian exclaimed, perplexed. “Maker forbid! This will positively ruin the scowl you took so long to perfect!”

 

“Well, you are a good friend - for a Tevinter.”

 

Dorian laughed. “And you’re not that pungent a barbarian, for a Fereldan.”

 

“Pungent?” Cullen was a little hurt.

 

“I have a gift for you,” Dorian said. “It was a going away present, but now I would rather it be a wedding gift, of sorts.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pendant, a pale violet shard of crystal bound inside a wrought cage dangling from a chain. 

 

“What is this?” Cullen asked, taking it. He felt the magic flowing from it.

 

“A sending crystal,” replied Dorian. “Very rare, very valuable. Amazing what friendship with the Inquisition gives you access to!”

 

“What does it do?”

 

“If I get in over my head, or you’re overwhelmed with sorrow for the lack of my velvety voice, or Evie is driving you up the wall - or vice versa - magic!”

 

“We can talk to each other?” Cullen exclaimed. “From Tevinter to Ferelden? Immediately?”

 

“Wonderful, isn’t it?”

 

“This is… amazing!” 

 

“Well you didn’t think I would just leave and you’d never hear from me again, did you?” 

 

Cullen laughed awkwardly. “I was worried about that for a moment.” He put on the chain and tucked the crystal into his uniform. He looked up then. “Dorian… what about Bull?”

 

Dorian’s melancholy returned once more. “He  _ wants  _ to come with me. It can’t happen, of course. A Qunari cannot simply walk around the Imperium, even in a Magister’s company. I don’t want to hurt him, he doesn’t want me to hurt. We’re working it out.”

 

Cullen reached out and embraced Dorian. Part of him watched as if from outside of him. How much he had changed in the years as Inquisitor. He would never have embraced when he left Kirkwall. Dorian hugged him back. “If you make me cry, I’ll set your small clothes on fire, I promise you,” he said as they pulled apart. Dorian smiled at him. “You are my dearest friend, perhaps my only friend. That will never change, no matter where we are.”

 

Cullen smiled at that. “Do the others know?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What? But I didn’t?”

 

“You were the hardest to tell. Hardest,” Dorian waggled his eyebrows. 

 

“Maker!” They turned to head back to the tavern.

 

“Speaking of hardest, don’t drink too much or Evelyn will be very disappointed with your performance.”

 

“I-- That-- She is never disappointed!” Cullen sputtered. 

 

“Truly? I shall have to ask her for details!”

 

“Don’t you dare!” Cullen snapped, genuinely worried because Evelyn just might tell Dorian everything.

 

“But I require updates! She’s very impressed with the mirror trick, by the way. I’ll have to try that with Bull.”

 

“I-- She-- Why would she- We are not having this conversation!” 

 

Dorian chuckled. “Then let’s go back and drink the good wine before--”

 

Evelyn’s laughter rang overhead like ecstatic, slightly insane birdcall. Dorian raised a thoughtful eyebrow. “Does she laugh like that even you both--”  

 

“Yes,” Cullen sighed heavily, unable to keep the blush from his cheeks. “Only when she’s drunk!”

 

Dorian pat his shoulder consolingly. “I’m sure she doesn’t mean to giggle when you take your pants off.”

 

“It’s the alcohol, alright? Nothing else!”

 

“Right.”

 

“It really is!” 

 

“I believe you!”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone still around reading this after 49 chapters and seventy bajillion words? O_O;


	50. Through the Looking Glass - Trespasser

The arguments went in circles. Cullen couldn’t bear this. When Teagan wasn’t bawling him out like he were some wayward misguided recruit, Orlais was trying to coddle them with veiled promises. Cullen hated this. Every minute in the room made his headache. The voices were not helping. They were talking again, and little could make them stop. Perhaps it was the wedding night, when they roused and shared some very odd stories and lore in the middle of… official consummation. Evelyn hated when he started speaking elvish in bed. Teagan’s voice drifted into his head once again as Cullen rested his mouth on his clasped hand. His arm was… aching. The mark was a dull throbbing pain that mirrored his heartbeat and his headache. “The Inquisition established an armed presence in Fereldan territory. You outright seized Caer Bronach in Crestwood!” Teagan was saying, shouting down from the dias before him where he sat with Duke Cyril and Leliana. Josephine sat beside Cullen at an ornate table below. The entire proceeding was like a courthouse, with nobles and other dignitaries gathered to gawk.

 

“From  _ bandits _ ,” Cullen said tersely. “We took the keep to restore order and protect the Fereldan citizenry of Crestwood. If the Arl prefers, we could return the keep to the bandits we took it from.”

 

Josephine kicked him discreetly under the table. Cullen drew a deep breath and tried to reign in his irritation. No small task, when dealing with Teagan. 

 

“Your help was appreciated two years ago, Inquisitor,” Teagan said. “Now order has been restored, yet you remain. Invading under pretext of restoring order is exactly what the Gray Wardens did to us centuries ago and we exiled them!” Teagan’s hand hit the table. “Now the Inquisition is doing the same thing with Gray Wardens in their ranks!”

 

“Your concern is ill-founded,” Cyril said evenly. “The Gray Wardens have proven their worth time and again.”

 

“Of course Orlais tolerates their interference. The Inquisition is the only reason Celene still has the throne,” Teagan said flippantly. 

 

“Rest assured, Teagan, the Empire of Orlais will not stand idle if the Inquisition oversteps its boundaries,” Cyril replied. 

 

Boundaries that no one pressed upon them when the Inquisition was dealing with Corypheus, Cullen noted. And as if Ferelden were not indebted to the Inquisition! Cullen felt his cheeks heating from the suppressed irritation. He was… Maker help him, he wanted to hit the lot of them. But no, he learned early in his career as Inquisitor that hitting nobles was not allowed. He seethed silently instead. 

 

“Unlike Ferelden, however, Orlais understands that these were the well-intentioned mistakes of a young organization,” Cyril went on. Cullen sighed silently and ran his hands through his hair, his mark throbbing painfully. It was silent until that morning, what was going on? He hadn’t used it. 

 

Josephine cast him a glance, worry in her eyes. He shook his head. Were he at Skyhold, he would have walked out of the meeting then and there. Alas, this was not Skyhold. “An organization in need of a guiding hand,” Teagan was sneering genteelly at Cyril. “Yours, no doubt.”

 

A hand tapped Cullen on the shoulder. He turned to see the face of Charter, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Inquisitor, Divine Victoria wishes to speak with you urgently,” she said. 

 

Cullen glanced at Leliana, her face impassive as if she did not see Charter. “Divine Victoria?” Cullen muttered as Teagan droned on with his tirade. “The one sitting right there?”

 

“Yes, that one,” Charter said patiently. “She was also your spymaster at one point, Inquisitor. It’s a pressing matter, your worship.”

 

“Thank you Charter,” Cullen shot her a glance. Sometimes Charter had a mouth on her. He looked at Leliana, who met his gaze and nodded impreceptibly. 

 

Cullen stood up and felt eyes upon him. “Excuse me, my lords,” Cullen said. “A matter has arisen that requires my attention. With your leave, your holiness.”

 

“A matter more important than this Council?” Teagan demanded as Cullen stepped away from his chair. 

 

“Alas, another of those well-intentioned mistakes of a young organization, I’m afraid,” Cullen said, unable to stop himself for all the money in the world. It was worth it to see Teagan’s face shading red with anger. Josephine buried her face in her hand. 

 

“This is highly irregular,” Cyril added.

 

“Perhaps it would be best if we took a short recess,” Leliana said. 

 

Cullen bowed to Leliana and strode from the hall. Josephine rose, gathered her papers in her arms and rushed after him as the assembled nobles started to buzz when they left. Cullen could see Dorian, Cassandra and Varric in the crowd, rising to leave quickly as well. 

 

“Are you mad?” Josephine hissed as they followed Charter through the halls of Halamshiral. “With respect.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Cullen muttered. “Any more of Teagan and I would have opened a rift into the Fade right under myself. It would be less painful than listening to him.”

 

“We are at their mercy!” 

 

“No, we are not. We will not be dressed down like an errant recruit, Josephine - not after both countries have benefited from us over the past two years!” 

 

“The reality of the situation is as such, Cullen!” Josephine grated. “You cannot snark the Council! You do more damage than good!” 

 

Cullen sighed heavily. She was probably right. No, she was right. He was acting like a child. He shouldn’t give Teagan the satisfaction. “I’ll… behave,” he gave in grudgingly. 

 

“And if you have nothing helpful to say, don’t say anything!” She added. 

 

“Yes, Josephine…”

 

“And stop scowling!” 

 

“That’s asking entirely too much of me!”

 

“Cullen!” 

 

“Fine! I’ll try! Maker’s breath!” They were led out into the gardens and past the taverns, the area relatively empty with most of the nobles gathered in the Council Chambers. They were at a servant’s quarters, its door torn off the hinges. There were Inquisition guards there, keeping gathering nobles at bay from the quarters. Evelyn emerged from within, her sword strapped to her back. That was ominous. 

 

“What’s going on?” Cullen asked. 

 

“Something odd,” Evelyn said and stood aside to let him see into the room. There, sprawled on the floor with some sort of bamboo and wicker armour, was a massive Qunari form, sitting in a pool of blood. Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Bull?” He asked immediately. 

 

“I have spoken to him,” Evelyn said. “He has no idea why there’s a member of the Antaam here. He’s quite annoyed by this.” 

 

Cullen walked in and looked at the corpse, staring at the wounds. Evelyn stood beside him. Then, Leliana walked up to them, resplendent in her Divine’s robes. 

 

“Snarking the Council, Cullen?” Leliana said, raising an eyebrow.

 

Evelyn sighed when she heard that.

 

“Is that really important right now?” Cullen asked testily. This was unfair, he only snarked them once.

 

“No, not right now,” Leliana said, walking into the room. She stared at the body. “The guard said we should take a look at this, and I believe he was correct.”

 

“How did a qunari warrior in full armour get into the Winter Palace?” Cullen asked. 

 

“Bull reports that he’s one of the Antaam,” Evelyn said to Leliana. 

 

“Not a spy then,” she mused, folding her arms and touching her chin in thought. 

 

“No, and the wounds, you can see where the spells hit him,” Evelyn took out her sword and pointed to the corpse. “Charred floretes in the skin with no blood, cauterized by mage fire.”

 

“But bleeding nonetheless,” Leliana said, eyeing the blood on the floor. “Blade wounds?”

 

“Or he was--”

 

“Still alive when he got here,” Cullen finished. He stared at the blood. 

 

“So he was badly injured, separated from his allies, but made it here,” Leliana said. “But how?”

 

“Wait here, your holiness. We’ll find out.”

 

Leliana smiled faintly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. Cullen matched her smile. “We work for you now, might as well get your money’s worth.”

 

Leliana laughed as Cullen followed the blood trail outside. To his lack of surprise, Evelyn followed him. “Commander?”

 

“Inquisitor,” she said cooly. “Seeing as how I’m the one with the sword between us, I think my presence might be helpful.”

 

Cullen sighed. “I really need a ceremonial sword for this uniform,” he said, trailing the drops of blood that led outside the servant’s room. 

 

“Like a rapier? You don’t know how to knit, Cullen,” Evelyn muttered. 

 

There were gawkers now, and Cullen recognized some of the nobles from the Council Chambers among them. He found another patch of blood that led to the warren of passageways and delicate trellises that snaked through the gardens. 

 

Evelyn frowned at the blood in the grass. “It ends at the wall?” She said, looking up at the trellis before them. “He fell?”

 

Cullen looked up, seeing where the vines of the trellis had been disturbed, torn aside. He gripped the trellis and shook it to test it. Then, confident that he wouldn’t look too embarrassed if he fell, he started to climb. 

 

“What are you doing?” Evelyn exclaimed. 

 

“It’s fine, I’ve done this before the last time I was here,” Cullen said and looked under his arm to see her appalled and perplexed expression. 

 

“Why?” She poured all of her puzzlement into her voice.

 

“It was a good idea a the time - you had to be there,” Cullen muttered. “Are you coming?” He continued on, feeling the trellis shake as she scrambled up after him. Cullen found himself at the top of a verandah, a window leading to an unused room before him. There was blood on the floor, dark and foreboding in the sunlight. Evelyn clambered up and dusted her hands. 

 

There was a dusty room before them, dark in contrast to the bright sunlight. Evelyn drew her massive blade. She held it with one hand on the handle and a gauntleted fist over the middle of the blade, effectively shortening the weapon. She was good at half handing, Cullen knew. She took a step in before he did. He knew the tactical necessity of her taking point. He wished he had a sword. They followed the trail of blood deeper into the room, dust sheets covering most of the furniture, motes hanging in the air like diamonds. There was a hum in the air here, and a whisper rousing in his head. The voices were speaking, excited, words falling over each other. He frowned, his hand on his head, willing them to be quiet, he needed to focus here. 

 

Evelyn glanced over his shoulder. “Your friends?” She asked softly.

 

He nodded. “It’s fine,” he whispered in return. “They’re… excited.”

 

She frowned in slight puzzlement, but nodded and walked in, following the trail of blood. The humming grew louder. A light shone from the other side of a door, left ajar. Evelyn pushed the door ajar with her sword, the light spilled out over them. “Blood of Andraste,” she hissed. 

 

Within the room, sitting there, beautiful, benign and terrifying, was an Eluvian, lit and open. Cullen stared, his eyes narrowed. He woke the voices within and they began to whisper excitedly. “Familiar,” he murmured. “An old… old ally, enemy, they cannot decide…” His hand clenched as he felt the pain shooting up his arm from the mark. He winced. 

 

“I think,” Evelyn said firmly, cutting through the voices in his mind, “You need to get into your armour. Now.”

 

+++++

 

It was disconcerting the way the mirror was brought down to a safer location. The back of it was solid wood, but the front opened to Maker knew where. Leliana had mobilized an army of ‘servants’ to find out how on earth a working Eluvian was even brought into the Winter Palace. Evelyn had the thing brought down to a side room and posted guards all around it. Their orders were simple. If it wasn’t Cullen or the Inner Circle, they were to attack on sight. 

 

Cullen stood before the mirror now donned in armour once more, sword at his hip and shield on his back. Cassandra was tightening the straps of her armour. Dorian and Varric had been the first to volunteer to come. They all had. All of his friends. But he needed them here, ready to reinforce the Inquisition’s forces should anything come through. “Just like old times,” Varic said, shouldering Bianca. 

 

“Not quite, this place doesn’t nearly smell as bad as Ferelden,” Dorian drawled. 

 

Cullen rubbed his hand. The pain wasn’t fading. That was an oddity. It rarely lasted that long. It stung more when he was close to the mirror, or did it? Did he fret more in the presence of the mirror and cause the mark to flare? He looked down at the mark on his hand. It was shining. He glared at it, willing it to still. It was… resisting…?

 

“Cullen!” He blinked and looked up, or down into the face of Evelyn. She had worry in her eyes, even as her face was as stern and professional as ever. “Inquisitor,” she corrected. “Are you ready?”

 

“I am,” Cullen said, lowering his hand, his fingers closed in a fist to hide the stubborn glow. 

 

Evelyn nodded. “We’ll be on guard here. Be careful, Inquisitor. You don’t know what you’ll face.”

 

He nodded and moved to the mirror. You don’t know what you’ll face…” He bit his lip and turned around, his hand cradling the back of her neck as he leaned down to kiss her, his lips cutting her gasp short.

 

The pain in his hand stilled, muted by the kiss. He stopped himself from frowning just in time. The pain stilled when he kissed her. That was something he needed to puzzle out later. Her eyes were wide with surprise, cheeks tinged. She glanced at the soldiers in the room and then back at him. She smacked his breastplate with her hand. “You’d better come back,” she muttered, puffing her pink cheeks. Dorian, Varric and Cassandra said nothing, merely smiling, allowing them their moment.

 

He smiled at her, puzzled, confused and more than a little worried. Then he stepped through the mirror, the blue light enveloping him. He was married. He wanted to be with her. He wanted… peace. Andraste, this step through the mirror was not one he wanted to take. He had left her before to go on missions, but this one felt harder. He opened his eyes as the blue light faded, blinking in the sudden unexpected brightness. Before him was an impossibility. The sky was so bright it was blinding to the eyes. In the distance, rocks floated, ancient mirrors opening to the sky, some lit, some dark. Stairways led from nothingness, to nothingness, floating in the air. And before them, next to a stream that fllowed endlessly into the white void of the sky, was a cherry tree, bowed with age, delicate blooms gently falling. In his head, Cullen heard the voices whispering in barely contained excitement, a sense of nostalgic familiarity ebbing from them. The were speaking. 

 

“Where are we?” Varric muttered, adjusting to the light. 

 

“This is unlike any place I’ve ever seen outside of the Fade,” Dorian said, drawing his staff. “I think we can all agree rocks don’t float like that, yes?”

 

“Is this the Fade?” Cassandra asked Cullen. “You said before Keiran directed Morrigan’s to the Fade.”

 

Cullen paid the voices heed. “No,” he murmured. “This is the Crossroads. You remember when we stepped through after the Temple.”

 

“I remember it,” Cassandra said. “I also remember that it was nothing like this.”

 

“It’s being rebuilt.” 

 

They stared at him. “What? The Crossroads?” Dorian asked. “An extraplanar realm connected to ours through ancient elven mirror is being… rebuilt?”

 

Cullen frowned, trying to make sense of the words tumbling in his mind. “I think so. They’re saying… it feels like it was before. But sundered, not yet whole. Pieces floating, adrift in the wind, slowly being… healed. Some are happy…” He hissed and pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing. “Some are not. I don’t know why. Not every priest of Mythal is pleased by this. Ea  _ ladarem. Elashen gashal… _ Healed, world made whole.” Green light sparked in his eyes from the mark and Cullen quickly lowered his hand. “Andraste,” he muttered. 

 

“Do you understand any of that?” Varric asked Dorian. 

 

“I rarely do when he goes Full Mythal,” Dorian said. 

 

“Regardless,” Cassandra said firmly. “We are not here to puzzle out the Crossroads.” She pointed to the ground, drops of blood leading down a path under the cherry tree to a mirror in the distance. “It appears our Qunari came from there.”

 

Cullen drew his blade and shield. “On your guard,” he said, leading the way towards the mirror. “We don’t know what’s going to happen.”

 

They stepped through to another place, into what looked like catacombs, lit with torches hanging from sconces in the walls. There before them, was another corpse. Otherwise, beyond the sound fo sputtering torches, the place was quiet. Cullen walked forward and knelt by the corpse. A qunari like the one they found, also dead. He looked the wounds over. “Killed like the one at the Winter Palace,” Cullen said. 

 

“He looked like part of their military as well,” Dorian supplied. “But dressed for war.”

 

“Is that unusual? Qunari are always dressed for war. They are War,” Varric grumbled. 

 

“His blood trail leads off this way,” Cassandra said. Cullen straightened up as he looked down the dim corridor that stretched before them. They followed the trail, hands always on their weapons, ears peeled for any odd sounds. Ambush was easy in a confined place like this. But they met no ambush, found no more qunari. There was only another mirror. With no other path open to them, they stepped through. 

 

When the blue light faded from their eyes, Cullen blinked to adjust to the sudden brightness. A huge expanse spread before him. They were on top of a tower now, rolling greens all around, dotted by towering elven statues. The place looked familiar, and the voices were clamoring in his head. Cullen frowned, trying to recall where he had seen this place, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun. “Shut up!” Cullen snapped to the air filled with nothing more than bird song. 

 

“Your friends talking up a storm in there?” Varric asked. 

 

Cullen grunted. “They’re suddenly happy. Stupid. IT’s like walking around with a class of excitable children!” He strode forward, following the path of the parapet around the tower, ivy and broken stones threatening to catch a toe and send one tumbling. It was beautiful here. There was a lake as well, cradled in the curves of the hill. This would make for excellent farm land. Why wasn’t this populated? There wasn’t a homestead in sight. They rounded the path and saw another mirror glittering, with four massive frozen figures before it. “Those are odd statues,” Cassandra noted. Then she paused. “They are not statues.”

 

Something exploded from a distant tower, a burst of violent magic tearing up the sky before fading away. Cullen frowned. “Mage,” he said firmly. 

 

“And a powerful one,” Dorian added. “I can still feel the magic cracking form the stones.”

 

“And the heat,” said Varric, pointing at the ground, where a huge char mark bloomed from the middle of the four figures. 

 

Cullen frowned, trying to think over the yelling in his head. “Let’s move on, we need to find out what the blazes these qunari are doing around ancient Elven mirrors--” He gripped his sword, his mark stinging. “Shut up in there! Maker’s breath!” And he strode through the mirror, moving with an almost foolhardy speed. Then he stopped, emerging from the other side. They were in the middle of the lake, standing on a tower on an island. On another island nearby, there came the sounds of fighting. Qunari, live ones, were battling.. figures. Ethereal figures moving, fighting, glowing purple. He felt the others come through the mirror. There was the smell of blood in the air. The Qunari were losing. 

 

They had to get across, there were no other mirrors there. Cullen heard the voices speaking together at last. He looked at the statue of a howling wolf. 

 

“Qunari,” Cassandra squinted. “We need to get across - one of them must be able to tell us why they’re here. But we need him alive.”

 

Varric and Dorian began to look around. Cullen strode to the statue and touched its eye. Something surged in his arm, the mark firing pain to his shoulder. “Maker!” Cullen growled as the eye glowed, sparking with green magic. Something started to rise from the waters between the island. Pillars supporting segments of bridge rose from the waters, covered with weeds and algae, smelling of rotten fish. 

 

“Nice,” Varrc grinned, cocking Bianca with a sense of glee. “Thank your friends, Curly.”

 

“Don’t fire on the figures,” Cullen said. “They are friends.”

 

“Should the Viscount of Kirkwall be so bloodthirsty?” Cassandra asked, smiling slightly.

 

“Nobody ever lets me have any fun in Kirkwall.”

 

When the pieces were in place, Cullen and the others joined in the fray. To Cullen’s surprise, the minute the Qunari saw them coming, they abandoned their fight with the glowing sentinels and charged, screaming for death to the Inquisition. The fight was brutal, and despite their best efforts, keeping the Qunari alive was impossible. When the qunari charged Cullen’s party, they allowed themselves to be flanked by the sentinels. The killing blows Cullen and the others spared, the ethereal figures finished off. Cullen could barely hear his friends talking over the voices in his head. A places of rebels, castaway. A place of traitors, a place of freedom fighters - they could not agree, it was like listening to a thousand voices arguing. His hand gripped his shield strap tighter. Eventually, it grew quieter, the voices dimmed with the head of battle dissipating, the sentinels stood silent, one by one as each qunari fell. Cullen pulled his sword out of the last Qunari warrior to fall. “Those glowing things are far too helpful!” Dorian complained. 

 

Two glowing feet appeared in Cullen’s vision. He raised his sword immediately, on guard, but the towering elven warrior stood immobile before him. This was like no elf he had ever seen. Most were willowy, slender, graceful. This one towered above him, a glowing hammer resting on one hulking shoulder. Cullen stared up at it. It started to speak, and meaning dropped into his head like hot lead into water. He understood. He spoke words that came from within, words from the Well. The sentinel replied, voice intoned. 

 

“We are not your enemy,” Cullen said finally, words spilling forth in elvish.

 

“You are familiar,” came the thought from outside him. 

 

“I carry something that was.”

 

And the figure said no more, apparently satisfied. It didn’t even look at him, staring ahead instead. Cullen stepped back and then around the figure. He sighed in relief when the sentinel let him past. “They are not our enemies,” he said. 

 

“You’re speaking elvhen,” Cassandra pointed out. 

 

Cullen blinked. He hadn’t even realized… “Forgive me, that was unintentional,” he said, his cheeks colouring. “They are not our enemies. They are sentinels. And they have let us pass.”

 

They moved on, ignoring the silent figures. “These are bound spirits,” Dorian said, giving the silent sentinels a wide berth. “And it is old. Very old. What did you say to it, Cullen?”

 

“A ritual. An old ritual. Something the Well of Sorrows knew”, Cullen frowned. “A ritual to Fen’Harel. The Dread Wolf.” He shook his marked hand, trying to dispel the dull pain. “Why would Mythal’s priests know about a ritual to a trickster elven god?” He winced as answers poured from his head. He put the heel of his hand on his temple, trying in vain to stop the endless answers. “Blast, I shouldn’t have asked--”

 

“They do not know?” Cassandra asked, watching him carefully, her eyes concerned 

 

“They know,” Cullen replied. “They all know. But there are a thousand different answers, each one of them truth, correct, certain - it’s tearing my head apart.”

 

“Try to focus on the here and now,” Varric said. “Just… come back.”

 

“I’m fine,” Cullen said. He shook his head. He hadn’t been out in the field in months. He didn’t expect this to be so… difficult. Stupid voices, why weren’t they shutting up? And the mark was throbbing despite the dimmed glow. Blast it. It was beginning to worry him. 

 

“That is not the real concern right now,” Cassandra said, her voice stern as they walked on. “The qunari came straight for us, abandoning their other foes. They attacked the Inquisition on sight. They never act without orders. A commander in the Qun must have given the order to kill us.”

 

“A commander in the Qun?” Cullen asked. “The entire qunari nation wants us dead?”

 

“Well,” Dorian drawled. “It looks like the Inquisition and Tervinter have something in common after all. It’s always so nice when people find common ground.”

 

They came to a door at the end of the path, guarded by two more sentinels. It was solid stone adorned with green mosaic tiles forming an intricate pattern on its face. Cullen could feel the power flowing from it. Familiar power.

 

“This is magic as well,” Dorian said. 

 

Cullen sheathed his sword and shouldered his shield. “Yes,” he said.

 

“You can feel it?” Dorian blinked. 

 

“He is - was a templar,” Cassandra pointed out. Cullen said nothing. That wasn’t the reason why he could feel it. The door’s magic felt familiar. He knew it. He carried its mark for over two years. He looked down at his marked hand and willed it awake. It flared, and so did the pain. As if pulled like a key into a lock, Cullen stretched out the mark to the door. Green light surged forth into the door, and… something surged back. Knowledge, power, flowing backwards into him. He set his jaw and bore it, words and pictures blooming in his mind, before it faded with a blast of green light. He hissed, shaking the sting from his marked hand. The door glimmered like a reflection in a pool and faded. 

 

“What was that?” Varric breathed. 

 

“Like… veil-fire,” Cullen said. “It speaks.”

 

“The door talks to you?”

 

“This was an important place. A refuge for elven slaves.” Cullen rubbed his mark. 

 

“The talking door said that elves fled humans?” Varric asked. 

 

Cullen’s frown deepened as he shot Varric an annoyed glance. “No.” The voices now spoke in unison. “They fled their elven masters.”

 

“Elves kept elves as slaves?” Varric exclaimed. “Huh. One more thing never to tell Daisy.”

 

Cullen looked over his shoulder at the rolling hills, voices hissing in his head. “This whole valley was created by Fen’Harel. Just for the slaves.”

 

“A dalish god of misfortune made a sanctuary for slaves?” Dorian exclaimed. 

 

Cullen sighed. “Apparently.” His head and arm was throbbing now. Maker… “No wonder the voices won’t shut up. It’s like they’ve entered… history. We might be the first humans to walk here in ages.”

 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Varric said. “Never argue with creepy elf voices. Or the Inquisitor. Both the same thing, really.”

 

Cullen sighed again and let that pass. They stepped through and found another mirror, which led them to… another end of the valley. Cullen peered down over the battered parapet to see the island with the towers they were just on. “We’re nearby,” he said, turning his arm, trying to dull the pain. “That’s the lake.”

 

“Are you sure you can continue?” Asked Cassandra.

 

“What would you have me do?” Cullen snapped. “Go back?”

 

“Another can come in your place.”

 

“And when they come across another green door? No, Cassandra. I’ll see this through. I’m fine, it just aches.”

 

“Age,” Dorian said sagely. 

 

“We’re the same age, Pavus,” Cullen pointed out. 

 

“Well, certainly not physically.”

 

Cullen sighed and dropped the subject. As much as he enjoyed being with his friends again, the mark was making him… testy. They continued on, seeing more sentinels and more corpses of qunari scattered before a door. “These look fresh,” Varric said. 

 

“They are,” Cassandra replied. “The blood is not even dry. And his blade wasn’t drawn, they were taken by surprise.”

 

Cullen looked up at another green door behind the sentinels. He frowned and raised his hand to it once more. Again the magic flowed in exchange for knowledge. Again the pain wreathed his arm. He winced when the connection broke. Cullen stared at the wavering wall in disbelief. 

 

“Curly looks like he saw a ghost…”

 

“Fen’Harel was a mortal!” Cullen blurted. “He freed slaves as a mortal, not a god.”

 

“So they diefied a mage,” Dorian said. “Not unusual for primitive cultures.”

 

“Primitive?” Cullen exclaimed. 

 

“Figure of speech,” Dorian said mildly. 

 

“Ordinary guy saves people, accidentally founds religion… sounds a lot like the Chant, really,” Varric said.

 

“He took pains to renounce his divinity,” Cullen said. It was hard to pin down why this news was so upsetting to him. He felt like his feet got kicked from under him. 

 

Dorian chuckled. “This Fen’Harel sounds like quite the rebel. I’ll bet the old ‘elven gods’ loved that.”

 

Cullen said nothing. The priests of Mythal spoke of her as divine. Perhaps he had come to believe it. But now… now it wasn’t true? Fen’Harel was mortal? What of Mythal then? They descended into an increasingly dark pathway, their feet clattering on the worn stones of the steps. There was another door. Cullen raised his hand. When the door started to waver, Cullen realized his mouth was dry. “They were not gods - none of them were,” he breathed. “Evanuris, they were all mortal, but mages with power beyond comprehension--”

 

Something sparked from within as darkness spilled out. The pain that came lanced up through his arm. Cullen cried out, holding his wrist. Light flickered around him like lightning in the complete blackness. Cullen bit his lip. 

 

“Are you alright?” Cassandra breathed, her face bathed in flickering green light that spilled from the… thing before them. 

 

“I’m fine,” he said. “It stopped. It’s fine--” It looked like a tree with spiralling branches, hanging from the ceiling, spilling green fire and blocking their path. But even the green light did not touch the walls. They couldn’t see, the darkness stretched out into the distance, completely black. 

 

“Right , do we need anything in this room, because that thing does not look friendly,” Varric said. 

 

“I can’t see!” Dorian exclaimed, his voice laced with irritation. He held up his hand, lighting a ball of flame on his palm. It blazed mightily, but the darkness sucked in the light. They couldn’t even see the walls. “Andraste’s mercy, it’s darker than the underside of a qunari’s ballsack!” 

 

“I don’t want to know how you know that,” Varric muttered.

 

“Perhaps we can go back,” Cassandra suggested.

 

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen growled and held up his hand. “Light!” He snapped at the mark and let it blaze. He had done this in the past, when it was late at night and he couldn’t find his boots, while also not wanting to wake Evelyn beside him. He had used the mark’s playful fire to light his way before. But he was not expecting this. His entire body surged, burning bright, the air itself alight, casting no shadows. The mark was thrumming, and for once, Cullen felt the pain leave his arm as he held it aloft. The instant the mark ignited, the strange construct stopped firing lightning. There was another green door beyond, at the other end of the room. 

 

“Curly…”

 

Cullen turned, seeing Varric looking at him with something akin to fear. “Should you be glowing like that?”

 

Cullen looked down at himself and nearly swallowed his tongue. He was aglow. His whole body was shining like the skin on the mark. He bit back the rising panic. “It’s fine,” Cullen croaked, though he was not sure who he was reassuring. The walls caught his eye, covered in paintings and mosaic tiles. He stared up at one, the image of a wolf taking was looked like the tattoos off an elf’s face. “Fen’Harel, I presume,” Dorian said. “With the Dalish?”

 

“Is he taking the marks off their faces?” Cassandra asked, her eyes on the mural. “That’s… they would never let the marks go, would they? I thought it meant the world to them, something to be proud of.”

 

“Maybe the marks meant something different then,” Dorian mused. “This place is certainly older than the Dalish…”

 

“We’re wasting time,” Cullen said, growing increasingly worried because he was still glowing from head to toe. He strode through the room to the door, his mark still flaring. The others followed him, giving the construct a wide berth. At the door, Cullen felt the mark’s fire flickering and he gasped, suddenly drained. He shook his hand and the light faded from the air, to be replaced by the vicious flares of the construct as it fired its lightning once more. 

 

Cullen shook his head. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered, looking down at his hands, pleased to not be glowing any longer. He had never done that before. He would be pleased to never do it again. But oddly, the mark was quiet now. It didn’t hurt. Perhaps all this while, it needed release? Pent up magic because he didn’t use it. But using it would mean it consumed him. Blasted thing! He swore and put the mark on the green door before them and let the mark flare. There was no choice. 

 

He winced when the connection broke and the door flickered away. A rack of spears lined the walls of the room before them. Shouts of alarm rang out. Cullen reached for his weapon, drawing his blade in time to catch the downward strike from a qunari blade, the massive warrior bearing down on him. The fight erupted around him. Cullen deflected the blade and with practiced skill, countered on the upward swing with a slash to the qunari’s gut. There was something in the Antaam’s training that left a weakness when their blades were pushed a certain way. It was pleased for it now. He stabbed down into the falling warrior and spun, a blade catching on the shield on his back. He flicked the blade from the wiry qunari away into the darkness and brought his sword down hard. An encroaching qunari exploded in mage fire. Cullen ignored the screaming qunari and fought on. 

 

One of the qunari turned then, charging at Cullen. He was huge, taller than Cullen, taller than Bull! The sword he bore was massive, but he carried it with one hand. Cullen reached for his shield urgently, but the strike from the dagger had entangled it in his armour strap. Then he froze when two bolts erupted from the qunari’s eyes. Cullen watched the huge qunari fall like a felled tree before him, the sound of his falling bulk thundering in the sudden silence of the end of battle. 

 

Varric raised Bianca. “If looks could kill…” he smirked. 

 

“Ugh,” Cassandra said, swiping the blood from her sword.

 

Cullen sighed, realizing his hand was still up, reaching for his shield.

 

“We’re getting very efficient at this killing thing,” Dorian grinned, leaning on his staff. “Maybe we should start a business.”

 

“You mean mercenary?” Varric asked. “Well… if you’re looking for clients, I’ve got contacts, Sparkles.”

 

Cullen shook his head and knelt down beside the massive qunari. “Search the bodies, there must be some clue as to what they’re doing here,” he snapped. 

 

“Right, right, keep it cool, Curly,” Varric said mildly and went to a fallen qunari. 

 

Cassandra stood up beside the body of the wiry qunari Cullen had killed. “Here,” she said, her voice tight. She handed a crumpled parchment to Cullen. He took it and read it, swearing viciously. 

 

“He swears in three languages,” Varric noted, looking mildly impressed as he dug around some beds against a wall. It was apparent the qunari were living here for a time. “Oops, another note. Keep swearing, Curly, you will when you read this.”

 

Cullen took it. “What unknown intruder?” He exclaimed. “Some unknown intruder attacked and turned the spirits against the qunari, then fled.”

 

“It makes sense,” Cassandra said. “We know that a mage has been fighting the qunari. They must have killed any qunari in their way and let the spirits finish the job.”

 

“So we fight a mystery agent stopping the qunari and qunari trying to infiltrate Halamshiral,” he growled. “We have to get back to warn them. Andraste preserve us, this is worse than I thought, if the Qun is declaring war on Orlais - or us.”

 

“Do you suppose the elves used these weapons to fight the Evanuris?” Dorian asked curiously, his eyes on the weapons that filled the room. 

 

“I don’t care about that right now, Dorian - and shut up in there! That wasn’t an actual question, nobody asked you lot!” Cullen snapped into the air. The voices dimmed in his head, but they were still there, grumbling almost petulantly. He saw the others staring at him, looking slightly appalled at his outburst. He blushed, feeling embarrassed for nearly losing his temper - at himself of all things. “C-come on,” he muttered, turning from them, his cheeks aflame. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive!! @__@


	51. Councils in the Dark - TRESPASSER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed warning!

They called it Dragon’s Breath. Deep underground, through an Eluvian that opened into the Deep Roads, the Qunari were manufacturing a new kind of explosive, forged from Gaatlock and Maker knew what else. Cullen heard the song of lyrium in the deep, felt it pulsing in the urns that held the explosives before he detonated them all underground. No more lyrium mining for the Qunari, not in that mine.

 

The last two days had run him ragged. He had barely slept from the pain in his mark, that grew stronger with every fight he waged. The voices were drowned by it sometimes, not even their excited whispers could get through to him when the pain swelled. But it always passed after he used it. As if the mark were… charging. It was getting harder to quieten it. In the Deep Roads, the mark’s gathered power had proved useful. The mining operation was destroyed, and he had the added benefit of coming home to tell Evelyn and Josephine they were probably at war with the Qunari, along with the strange news that the Inquisition was serving Fen Harel. 

 

He sat opposite them now, looking down at the maps that were strewn over the massive table that served as their war table. His report of Dragon’s Breath had not gone down well. Evelyn had sworn for quite a while until Josephine told her to stop in a somewhat undiplomatic tone of voice. 

 

“First the Blight, then mages and templars, then Corypheus and now this,” Cullen growled as he looked over the maps of Thedas spread out on the table before them. “Can’t we go ten years without the world falling to pieces?”

 

“Whatever the Qunari’s designs,” Josephine said tersely. “We must make sure they do not disrupt the negotiations. The Exalted Council is in a very delicate state.”

 

Cullen sighed, the throbbing in his hand beginning once again. “Surely the nobles’ precious feathers can be soothed while we deal with the real problem,” he muttered, shaking his throbbing mark in annoyance. He saw Evelyn’s eyes narrowing as she watched him. 

 

Josephine’s finger slammed down on the table. “Not when the Inquisitor insults the whole Council by walking out in the middle of the talks!” she pointed out. 

 

Cullen looked at her a little shame-faced. 

 

“The only advantage we have now is that Ferelden and Orlais are divided in goal and claims,” Josephine went on, her eyes flashing. “If they unite against us, Leliana will have no choice but to support their claims! We could lose everything.”

 

Cullen drew a deep breath, clasping his marked hand closed to keep the glow from escaping. It did that sometimes. “With Qunari coming through Eluvians and attacking the South? Let’s see them try to disband the Inquisition after we save them from this Dragon’s Breath.”

 

“We still don’t know what that is,” Evelyn pointed out, her voice serious. “Not exactly. A threat not understood is easily disregarded.”

 

“Agreed,” Leliana chimed in. “For now, all we have is this Vidisala, the Qunari leader. She--”

 

The door to their council room opened then. Cullen looked up to see Teagan march in with Duke Cyril behind him. Cullen stood up with respect, but Teagan only sneered. “So you are here after all,” Teagan said, an edge to his voice. “Too grand to sit in our Council, Inquisitor?”

 

Cullen tucked his hand behind his back, holding on to his patience by the skin of his teeth. The last thing he wanted now was for the mark to flare in Teagan’s presence. “How may we assist, my lords,” he asked as politely as possible. 

 

“My apologies, Inquisitor, Lady Josephine,” Cyril said politely. “There has been an incident with one of your soldiers.”

 

“To put it lightly!” Teagan snapped. “How dare you! It was bad enough that the Inquisition chose not to inform the Council of the Qunari corpse, now your own guards are attacking servants? You have overstepped your bounds!”

 

Cullen wanted very much to hit Teagan. He glanced at Leliana who gave him an imperceptible shrug. Then a look at Josephine’s frustrated eyes made him keep himself in check. “Thank you, my lord,” he said as evenly as he could. “I will look into this matter personally.”

 

Teagan seemed taken aback, eyeing Cullen as his ruffled feathers settled. “Thank you, Inquisitor,” Cyril bowed. “Orlais stands ready to assist the Inquisition, as always.”

 

“You have my gratitude, my lord,” Cullen nodded. 

 

“Secrets and lies,” Teagan sighed. “You see why we fear your Inquisition? You act as if you’re the solution to every problem. How long before you drag us into another war?”

 

Cullen glared at him. “We have always only acted in the best interest of Thedas, Arl Teagan,” he said, his voice controlled. “But, to set your mind at ease, please excuse us to speak to the guard and resolve that situation at least, my lords.”

 

Cullen bowed and walked out past them. He was glad for the fresh air as he strode towards the guarded area where the soldier and servant were being held. As Cullen was expecting in the palace, there were gawkers even here, held back by a line of Inquisition guards. An Inquisition captain was speaking heatedly with a palace guard, but their words did not meet Cullen’s ears as his eyes fell upon a steel barrel that was all too familiar to him by now. Cullen swore inwardly, recognizing the barrel in an instant. Gaatlock had made its way into the Winter Palace. 

 

+++++

 

“It’s hurting you.” There was no question in Evelyn’s tone as she stood watching him don his armor in their quarters. “You’ve been fussing over it for the past two days, ever since the Eluvian.”

 

Cullen looked over his shoulder at her as he buckled on his breastplate. Did it show on his face? He was trying to keep the pain in check. “It’s of no moment,” he said. “I can endure it.” Though he said that, his left hand felt clumsy as he tried to work the strap into the buckle. He frowned in frustration, until a hand slipped over his from beside him. Evelyn stepped closer to him and buckled the strap. Dog lay by the bed, watching him with those curious yellow eyes. 

 

“Shrug into it,” she said, reaching for his pauldrons on the armor stand. 

 

“You don’t have to. I can manage.” He held his hand out for the pauldron she held. 

 

Evelyn watched him with thoughtful eyes for a moment, then placed it in his hand. “Of course you can,” she murmured. 

 

“I am fine,” he sighed. “Please, don’t… worry. Too much.” He started to buckle the pauldron on, willing his numb fingers to comply. 

 

Evelyn folded her arms, frowning slightly as she looked at him, as if sizing him up. “I’m glad you had the presence of mind to not tell me not to worry,” she said evenly. “I always worry.”

 

Cullen felt a pang at that. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I wish things were different.” His stupid sausage fingers finally worked the strap into the buckle. It was difficult to meet her gaze. As little as he slept, Evelyn has slept even less, constantly on guard and monitoring security. When she wasn’t doing that, she was fussing over him, checking on him, making sure he ate while she assured him she had already eaten earlier. He suspected that she wasn’t being truthful on that regard. This was not the life he envisioned for his wife.

 

Cullen shook his head. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. I did not ask to marry you just to keep on leaving you worried like this.” 

 

“Don’t be foolish,” she replied, handing him his other pauldron. “You do what you must, as do I.” 

 

Cullen took it and started to buckle it on. Her words of assurance did little to comfort him. But that was life for a soldier, was it not? As long as he came back alive. That was the main thing. He worked the strap into the buckle, his fingers on his left hand stiff and seizing from the pain. He winced. It was too much. “Evie draw the curtains,” he grunted as he let the pauldron fall onto the marble floor. 

 

Evelyn frowned, quickly drawing the curtains of their balcony closed. “Cullen, what’s the matter with--” The moment the last sliver of sunlight was stripped from the room, Cullen held up his palm. Evelyn gasped as the mark flared in the air and lit it grean, stripping all shadows from the room. She raised her arm, shielding her eyes. Dog whined and bolted under the bed. Cullen felt the pain fade once his mark discharged. He stared at the veins in his hand, glowing green right into his sleeve. Then the mark was spent, and its light faded from the air. 

 

He looked at Evelyn, shaking his arm as a wave of weariness washed over him. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “Sometimes it just-- It just needs to fire off. Then it’s fine.”

 

She was staring at him. “You can’t suppress the build-up of magic?” she asked. “You need to discharge it now?”

 

Cullen looked down at his hand, his veins still lit green. “Apparently,” he said softly. “It’s fine, it may just be how the mark works after a while.” It was a lie. He knew it was a lie. From the way she crossed her arms, it was apparent that she knew too. “I see,” she simply said. 

 

Cullen sighed and reached for his pauldron, buckling it on with greater ease now that the pain from his hand was gone. “Evie, it’s--”

 

“Of no moment, you said,” she cut in. “I understand perfectly.” He glanced at her, raising his eyebrow at her swift agreement. “You do what you must, don’t you?” she said. “And so do I.”

 

She walked over to him and with her gloved hands, reached up to pull him down into a fierce kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, keeping his mark off her body just in case. Then, just as quickly as the kiss began, she pulled away from him, holding his face as she looked into his with a hint of resignation in her gaze. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

 

“Your mark, that’s what’s wrong,” she said, her voice like steel. 

 

“Andraste,” Cullen sighed. “Evie, stop worrying about it--”

 

“I will do what I must,” she said firmly. “Including worry. Now you have a mission. I expect results, Inquisitor. Brace.” She held her fists above his pauldrons.

 

“Have I ever let you down?” he asked and winced when she hit his pauldrons hard to settle them in place. He shrugged in them, feeling the fit settle nicely. That was one benefit of having a wife who knew her armour. 

 

She tiptoed and kissed him on the nose this time. “Never. I will work with Leliana to sweep the palace of any of this gaatlock still here. You track down this Vidasala.” She glanced at her chest at the foot of the bed they shared. “And when you return, we’ll see what we can do with your arm. I’ll have a word with Vivienne and Dorian about it, since they’re staying behind.”

 

Cullen nodded, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Yes, Commander.”

 

++++++

 

The Eluvian burst with light, the Inquisition guards around it startling and drawing their weapons. Varric stepped out and shot them a weary look. “Don’t, fellas,” he sighed, fatigue in his voice. “It’s just us.”

 

Cassandra emerged from within, as did Hawke and Dorian. They were all exhausted, their faces drawn and tired, eyes rimmed and dark. They also smelled. Cullen was the last to emerge, shaking his marked hand to disperse the damn glow. He tottered slightly and a gauntleted hand reached out to steady him. “I told you not to push yourself,” Cassandra scolded, though she could not hide the glint of worry from her eyes. 

 

“I’m fine,” Cullen grunted, the last lights on the mark wisping out. The light of the mirror faded.

 

“Stubborn bugger, isn’t he?” Hawke muttered, eyeing the mark. Dorian leaned against the wall beside him, clearly on his last legs. 

 

Cullen straightened up, pushing Cassandra’s hand from his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he insisted once more. He steadied himself with willpower alone. “Back at attention, men,” he barked at the soldiers. “Send a runner to summon my advisors to Commander Trevelyan. Tell her to summon the War Council. Cassandra, get Dorian to the infirmary. Varric too.”

 

“Curly--” Varric began.

 

“I saw you get hit, Varric,” Cullen said. “I know your ribs are probably broken.”

 

“Yeah, I’m going to the infirmary,” Varric said. “I was going to say that you should too. I wasn’t the only one taking a beating. And your arm shouldn’t be glowing all the time like that.”

 

It shouldn’t be glowing all the time, Cullen silently agreed. Neither should it be burning all the way to his shoulder and up his neck. He twisted his stiff arm, bearing the pain with a straight face. “I’m alright,” he said. “I’ll go after I debrief the others. This journey to the Daarverad will prove difficult.”

 

Cullen somehow managed to grit and bear the unending pain in his arm all the way to the War Council. In the dark empty room, he set his sword and shield down with relief. He sagged when his weapons were put down, the strength seeping from his body, his arm throbbing, his head aching - was there any part of him that didn’t hurt? A mental check revealed that there wasn’t. Even his toes hurt in his boots. But he had to get this over with first. He had to at least confirm that this wasn’t as wide-spread as the Vidisala had threatened. Dragon’s breath… Maker help them. 

 

He drew a breath and straightened up, then lit the candles in the room. It was a while later, as Cullen was poring over the maps, that the Council door opened. Evelyn was in her uniform, buttoning up her collar. Leliana and Josephine followed, Josephine’s hair undone and spilling over her shoulder. 

 

“Cullen,” Evelyn breathed, relief in her eyes. “It’s been two days!” 

 

“Has it been?” Cullen asked tersely, clenching his marked hand. “It feels like it. To business, everyone.”

 

The women glanced at each other and took their seats. Leliana gave her report first. Cullen let the words swirl around him, leaning over the table, listening to news of barrels of Dragon’s Breath found in every head of state’s home across the South of Thedas, dozens of barrels of found under Halamshiral alone. “Reminding the Council of this will at least remind them of the Inquisition’s usefulness,” Josephine said thoughtfully.

 

“Not when the Inquisition is responsible for the threat here at Halamshiral,” Leliana said. 

 

“They came in through us,” Cullen grated and shut his eyes. The pain was reaching up across his chest now. He balled his hand into a fist to stem it. He drew a breath to keep himself in check, his cheeks heating up in his rising irritation. “How? How can we be the leak?”

 

“The elven servant handling the barrels confessed to working for the Qunari,” Leliana said. 

 

“But the servant was Orlesian,” Josephine said. “That implicates Orlais, not us--”

 

“The barrels arrived in our manifest,” Evelyn cut in. “I can confirm Leliana’s report. They are there. Numbered and everything.”

 

“And how did they get in there?” Cullen snapped. “Didn’t you check, Eve?”

 

Evelyn blinked at him. “I-- Of course I did,” she said. “But I didn’t open every barrel and crate personally to investigate.”

 

“It wasn’t the Commander’s fault,” Leliana told Cullen. “Several of the Inquisition’s Elven servants have disappeared. I looked into their backgrounds. They joined the Inquisition after fleeing Kirkwall.”

 

Cullen knew what Kirkwall was like at its worst. He knew Elves had left to join the Qun - and now they had been turned into spies by the Qunari. He couldn’t trust his own people. His own Inquisition was rotting from within like the Templars.

 

“We fought Corypheus, closed the Breach - saved the world,” Evelyn said, her voice ringing with emotions. “We can still serve. Those elves are gone. We can confirm that we’re no longer under the Qunari influence, can’t we?”

 

“And how will we do that?” Leliana asked. “Beyond interrogations - messy ones. What matters is how we broach this to the Exalted Council.”

 

_ Distrust our own people, _ Cullen’s thoughts echoed over their shouted words. 

 

“We are to blame,” Josephine breathed. 

 

“Hardly,” Evelyn replied. “We can and will root out the spies--”

 

“This isn’t about the spies!” Josephine snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. “You hid the qunari body! You’ve all but siezed control of the Winter Palace!” 

 

_ How could this happen? We saved the world while Orlais and Ferelden were sitting on their hands! _

 

The voices began to whisper, conflicting words and answers, washing over his mind. 

 

_ Shut up. _

 

“For the Council’s safety!” Evelyn retorted. “It wasn’t the most politically palatable move, which will be no comfort to them if they’re dead!” 

 

“Have you any idea what this has cost us with Orlais and Ferelden? They are threatening to dismantle us as we speak!” Josephine cried, her voice echoing in the chamber. She sneered, turning from Evelyn. “And perhaps they’re right.”

 

_ We are a threat to the world now.  _

 

_ The Qunari are an order away from destroying every head of state - every noble house-- _

 

The voices hissed.

 

_ Shut up in there! I don’t care about the veil now! _

 

“We will not be saddled with the plot of the Qunari,” Evelyn growled. “If anything, we are even more important now - we discovered it, did we not? I’d like to see them prove in court that we were party to this conspiracy.”

 

“Party or not, our vigilance was lax! We let down our guard and allowed ourselves to be used--” 

 

Green light burst in the chambers, the candles wavering as Cullen cried out. The pain that fired through his body was sharp and powerful and searing, nearly collapsing him had he not held on to the table. His ears rang as the pain coursed through him. He opened his eyes, his vision wavering as he lifted his head, his body slumped over his violently sputtering hand. “Maker’s curse this blasted thing!” he shouted, slamming the mark down on the table, map markers bouncing and tottering before they toppled. “We save Orlais and Ferelden! We close the Breach  _ twice _ , killed an ancient Darkspawn Magister! The veil is thinning - my hand is trying to kill me. And for what?”

 

In the stunned silence that followed, he felt the cold sheen of sweat on his face as the pain clawed through him, raking at his heart… he could feel the mark’s magic in his heart now… Down his spine, reaching through him. The voices spoke, telling him what he knew. He grit his teeth, their confirmation bringing him no comfort what-so-ever. The Mark was… killing him. It was consuming him. And something was wrong with the Veil, they cried out about it now, exalting it, almost, whispering and hissing and crowing with joy--

 

“Shut up!” he screamed, his voice bouncing off the walls. The voices ceased, silenced by the fury that buoyed up in him. The mark flickered and went out. He panted, lifting his hand from the table slowly, a charred mark on the desk and map where the mark had been. He looked at the others. “I need to get to the Daarverad,” he breathed. “You can all fight amongst yourselves once I’m d--” Evelyn’s eyes caught his, stilling his words. He averted his eyes. “...Once I’m back,” he finished. 

 

“Cullen,” Evelyn called. 

 

Cullen felt himself shrinking from her words. What had he done? “I want the guard on the palace and around the mirror doubled,” he said sharply. “Josephine, Leliana - let’s be upfront with the Council. There is no point in sugar-coating this. It’s a lost cause. Let them know, get their cooperation - send word to their people to purge the palaces of the Dragon’s Breath. We can’t let the Qunari destroy everything we fought for.”

 

He stood up, his eyes haunted. They rose with him, but he could not meet their eyes. “Let’s at least end this right. I’ll investigate the Daarverad and--”

 

“No!” 

 

Cullen looked up at Evelyn. “No, my love,” she said once more, her voice firm. “You’re going to go to our room and get your armour off. I’ll send a healer over to look at you, along with a hot meal.”

 

_ My love _ … The guilt he felt at those words was a bitter bile. He had married her, now he was going to die. He nodded. “This council is over,” he said, his voice heavy. 

 

“Cullen,” Leliana said, her eyes gentle. “Thank you.”

 

+++++

 

He had been bathed, treated for three broken ribs and fed. Cullen felt nominally better, but his mark still throbbed. He held his wrist. Increasingly, the mark was becoming destructive. In the Fade, it was unfettered. It built up energy and unleashed it with devastating effect. The voices said the Veil was thinning, that the mark was growing in power. Now he couldn’t control it. He had to, however. At least here, on the other side of the Veil, it wasn’t as potent. But it hurt. When he was alone, he curled up on the bed in his breeches and tunic, the mark’s pain lancing through him in the dark room. 

 

He was already sweating, his body shaking in pain as he stifled the mark. It was obeying. That was the main thing. It just hurt, all the way to his heart. It clouded his thoughts and parched his throat. No amount of praying was helping.

 

He was dying. He curled around the mark as the pain flared. He wasn’t sure how much time passed. He only remembered the tears. 

 

He was dying. 

 

The thoughts in his head were bitter. Everything he thought he had regained in his life, every dream he had for the future, they faded in the fire of the mark. And Evelyn. A widow after five days. Maker help him, why did he do this to her? Had he known… He looked down at the mark, the green glow snaking up the veins in his arm. He pulled his tunic aside. The light glowed around his heart, pulsing with every heartbeat.

 

He was dying.

 

Cullen covered his eyes with his arm, his sleeve catching the tears that fell. When he found something to live for… 

 

The bed shook. Cullen lifted his arm to see Dog walking on the mattress towards him. Dog whined, curling up against Cullen, resting his head on Cullen’s marked hand. Cullen wrapped his arm around the mabari fiercely. Dog looked at him with eyes that were knowing, sad… “You give her babies a ride, you hear me?” Cullen whispered to the mabari. “I’m not going to be around for that.”

 

Dog whined plaintively, nuzzling him with a wet nose. “I’m sorry, boy,” he sighed. 

 

“Don’t talk like that,” a voice carried over the dim green glow of his mark. Cullen glanced at the door as Evelyn stepped in and shut it. 

 

He sat up. As he did so, the light around his heart shone through his tunic. Evelyn’s eyes fell on it, and she froze with a gasp. Cullen touched his chest, the shadows wavering as he moved the mark. “Forgive me,” he whispered, his voice heavy. “Forgive me, Evelyn… I don’t know how long I have…”

 

She ran towards him, Cullen catching her in a fierce embrace as she clung to him. Her hands curled in his hair, gripping his tunic as she buried her face in his neck. “Don’t apologize,” she said against his skin. “Don’t you dare say sorry. Not for this. Never for this…”

 

She pulled away and sat on the bed, her eyes wet with tears. She wiped them from her eyes with a rough hand. “I can help,” she said, her voice tightly controlled. “I won’t let you die.”

 

“You can’t stop it,” he breathed, hanging his head. “I’ve tried…” 

 

“Don’t you say that!” Evelyn snapped. “Don’t you dare surrender like this!” 

 

“This isn’t an enemy!” Cullen grated. “This isn’t a demon I can kill or a rift I can close - this isn’t an apostate or a Qunari! You don’t think I haven’t tried?”

 

“I know you have. Just stop saying that like it will happen.”

 

Cullen sighed heavily and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. “Maker’s breath, why must you make this harder for me…” he wept. 

 

“Cullen…”

 

“I can feel it in my heart, Eve. I can feel the magic in my heart, down my spine, clouding my thoughts. All the rifts, the demons… And the veil is thinning. In the Fade, it’s worse. It will pull from me till I die.”

 

He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m going to leave you a widow after five days--”

 

“Cullen.”

 

“Andraste preserve me, I did this to you-- how could I--”

 

“Stop it!” she snapped, her voice ringing as she shook him by his shoulders. He stared at her. “There must be a way,” she breathed, taking his marked hand in hers. He pulled it away, fearing it would flare, fearing it would hurt her. 

 

“Don’t,” he breathed. “I don’t know what it will do.”

 

“Cullen,” she frowned, reaching for his hand. Cullen backed away from her. “You just hugged me. Give me your hand, you wouldn’t hurt me.”

 

“It would! It’s getting away from me-- I can’t--”

 

She grasped his wrist and closed her hand over the mark. He tensed, ready to pull his hand away at the first sign of the mark flaring. “I pray this will work,” she murmured. Then there was the song. It was old, familiar. It sang of ancient depths and magic, glowing in the dark of the deep roads. He stared at her in disbelief. Her eyes were aglow with lyrium’s blue light. “Evelyn, what have you done?” he croaked in horror. 

 

“I’m thinking a house by the lake,” she spoke then as the nullifying pulses of lyrium flowed over his mark. Cullen felt the old pull of lyrium, it had been so long since he heard the song, but the mark muted it, made it muffled, distant… He felt her tighten her grip on his hand and the pulses surged against the mark. “We could probably get a piece of land there, couldn’t we?”

 

“Why did you take lyrium?” he growled. 

 

“Dog would like being by the lake,” she went on, her hands starting to shake as they held his. Cullen felt his heartbeat easing as the mark’s glow was suppressed. He looked down, the green light receding from his chest and down his arm, pulled back by the blue. “Maybe we can train Stanton not to harass the wolves there.” Her voice was growing breathless now, her face shiny with sweat in the blue light. “We’d need a big house…” The mark’s green fire vanished past his wrist. “You know, for all the kids?” she smiled at him. 

 

His fingers curled around hers then. Children. It seemed like such an impossible dream now. Children playing in the house by the lake...

 

The mark faded entirely, and her blue light abruptly flickered away. Evelyn slumped forward, her hands falling from his. Cullen caught her as she slumped, embracing her. He grit his teeth, loathing the helplessness he felt at being unable to calm the mark. “Why?” he whispered, blinking through the tears. “Maker’s breath… why did you take lyrium? Why?”

 

He felt her chuckle weakly against him. “Silly Cullen,” she breathed. “Do you need to ask?”

 

“How much did you take?”

 

“Four philters.”

 

“Blood of Andraste,” Cullen grit his teeth. “Evelyn… Stop it… stop trying to save me! The Temple, the desert - now this? Stop it!”

 

“I can’t save you forever,” she said, pulling away from him. “But I will try till your last breath. Till my last breath.” Their foreheads touched as they clung to one another in the dark. Cullen felt something placed in the palm of his marked hand. He looked down to see the coin he had held so dear, mounted on a silver chain. “Humour me?” she breathed, closing his fingers around it. “There’s no telling what you’ll face before the end… a bit of luck can’t hurt.”


	52. Agents of Fen'Harel - Trespasser

The dawn had come, and Cullen dressed, wondering if it would be his last. Through the night, Evelyn had never left his side. With as much normality as they could muster to stave off the dark thoughts, they had breakfast and then he donned his armor with Evelyn’s help. She tucked his coin under his tunic, every touch of her hand on his mark pulsed with lyrium to suppress the mark’s fire.

 

They met Cassandra, Hawke, Dorian and Varric at the eluvian. If there were any comrades he would like to have his final mission with, it was them. Leliana and Josephine were there also to see them off. As they prepared the others prepared their armor, Leliana spoke to Cullen. “We will keep the Exalted Council informed of the Inquisition’s efforts,” she said to Cullen. “Though I cannot promise that they will allow the Inquisition to continue unchanged.”

 

“You don’t have to promise anything of the sort,” Cullen said. “If I am-- Should anything happen to me, there’s no point in continuing. You would require a new Inquisitor and I don’t see a need for one now. Perhaps the resources would be better dispersed to organisations that require it more - Seekers, Templars, Circles, even.” 

 

“Understood, Inquisitor,” Leliana replied solemnly. “Maker go with you.”

 

“Regardless,” Josephine said then. “We await your return.”

 

Cullen nodded. He turned to Evelyn who stepped up next to him, her fingers checking the buckles on his sword belt. There was no point in hiding their marriage. She had been touching him all morning, as if trying to commit him to memory through her fingers. Her hand pulsed gently over the mark, banishing the pain. “Please stop the lyrium,” he murmured quietly as she settled his shawl over his pauldrons.

 

She smiled and kissed his nose. “I will, when it’s not needed,” she assured him, patting his breastplate. 

 

His hand closed over hers. “When is it not needed?” he asked. She lowered her eyes, her lips tightening. “Lyrium will take away every memory. Even those of me.” He nestled his forehead against hers. “I don’t want that. Please promise me.”

 

She grit her teeth and thumped her fist on his chest. Her hand began to shake in his and she looked up at him with eyes filled with tears and impotent rage. “You better… be safe. Do what has to be done,” she said evenly. She touched his face, her fingertips trembling. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” he breathed.

 

She tensed. “Go.” 

 

He stepped away from her, turning to the mirror as her fingers lingered on his. “Are you ready?” he asked the others, who nodded. Without another word, they stepped into the mirror, the glass wavering behind them before it faded. 

 

Josephine walked up to Evelyn and put her hand on the Commander’s shoulder. “Eve,” she said. “Would you like us to wait with you?”

 

Evelyn forced a smile. “No, you have other duties to attend to,” she said. “If Cullen comes back and finds the Inquisition in shambles, he’ll probably be grumpy.”

 

Josephine’s hand squeezed Evelyn’s shoulder reassuringly. “He will come back.”

 

Evelyn drew a shaking breath. “He will do what he must, as he always has.” She turned back to the mirror, her hands balling into fists. “And I would have him no other way.”

 

Beyond the mirror, Cullen saw that the layout had changed. It was bizarrely disconcerting. There was a mirror now just down the stairs from the one he walked through. Who put it there? They had no choice but to take it, no other paths were open to them. Someone was leading them on. The voices swelled in his head. Cullen quietened them sternly. He wasn’t in the mood for too much information right then. 

 

“Nightingale told us about your hand,” Varric said. Cullen wished he didn’t. Here in the Crossroads, beyond the Veil, the mark was building up alarmingly. Evelyn’s comforting pulses were gone. 

 

“There must be something we can do,” Cassandra said. Cullen could sense the concern in her voice. 

 

He looked down at the mark as the ethereal cherry blossoms fell around him. “I don’t think there is,” he admitted, his voice tight. 

 

“Cullen, we’ll find a way,” Dorian assured. “You’re probably the only halfway pretty one here besides myself. You’re too pretty to die.”

 

Cullen chuckled despite himself, his eyes hollow as he faced the yawning pit of despair at the sound of the word ‘die’. “We haven’t time for this,” he said firmly, pulling his thoughts from dark places. “Come on, we have qunari to kill.” He started off, heading down the pathway towards the only mirror available to them. 

 

“Whatever happens, Evie will be pretty happy in your estate in Kirkwall, if she wants to come there,” Hawke said, falling in step beside him. “She and Aveline can talk about killing things all day. Your Dog and my Butcher should be able to get along famously. And wherever she goes, Varric and I will keep an eye on her.”

 

Cullen froze, swallowing the sudden swelling of gratitude and loss. Maker, his emotions were all over the place. Everything his friends said swung him like a pendulum back and forth from one feeling to another.  He couldn’t trust himself to speak, simply patting Hawke on the pauldron. “Come on, Bianca,” Varric said, slinging his crossbow off his shoulder. “Let’s show these tall people how it’s done, one last time.”

 

Dorian sighed. “Enjoy me while you can, I suspect you’ll all miss me terribly later.” Cullen braced himself, the pain in his arm already growing, and walked through the mirror. 

 

They emerged into a land bathed in night, the sky above him no longer a glowing white, but a dark velvet shroud adorned with unfamiliar stars. Cullen wasn’t sure what time it was where he was, he wasn’t even sure how time passed beyond the mirror. Though the walk through the glass seemed instantaneous, time seemed to pass quicker in the waking world. 

 

Shards of mirrors littered the battlements around them. A bridge led to a keep rising into the rocks of a cliff that plunged into the sighing sea below. “Eluvians,” Hawke blinked. “What on…”

 

“It’s like a graveyard,” Dorian said. “How in Andraste’s name do they get all these?” 

 

Cullen did not stop to investigate. There wasn’t time. He headed across the bridge towards the keep, running quickly, untill the mark flared. He cried out, pain lancing up his arm and into his heart, his footsteps stilled. “We’d better hurry!” he grunted, shaking his hand, the pain dimming. Above, some sharp-eyed lookout must have seen the mark’s green flare, for a horn resounded from the keep. Cullen reached for his sword, almost exulting the battle that was to come. Fighting meant no thought but the blade, he thought as the qunari charged. Fighting qunari was easier than fighting despair. His eyes grew intent. “Here they come.” 

 

+++++

 

Evelyn had been waiting by the mirror for hours. A desk had been brought in and reports were coming to her there. It was as good a place to work as any. Physicians were on duty, just in case Cullen returned. Though she kept glancing at the mirror, the glass stayed dark. He would be away for a while, as he was before. It was fine. She buried herself in her work, picking up another report, her fingers brushing the philter box on her table. 

 

Evelyn stilled, looking at it thoughtfully. The lyrium was good. She had dreaded taking it, but once she did, it was like waking up. She was alert, thinking better, reading people with keener eyes. But… She pushed the box aside to make way for her papers. He was coming back. They would fix the arm problem one way or another. No more lyrium. She promised him. 

 

He was coming back. 

 

She read the report with unseeing eyes. A house by the lake. Or Kirkwall, wherever he preferred, really. As long as they were together. She drew a breath. “Someone get me a flagon from the tavern,” she said. 

 

Rufus stood to attention. “The same, Commander?” he asked. 

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

He barked orders at a recruit. As the recruit ran for the door, it burst open. Evelyn straightened up, setting down her reports as the stern-faced visitors entered. Teagan barely acknowledged her, Cyril nodded his greeting. Leliana followed in her Divine’s robes, along with Madame Vivienne. 

 

“Your Perfection, my lords and lady,” Evelyn bowed, sensing an unpleasant encounter ahead. 

 

“This is the blasted thing?” Teagan asked, glaring that the mirror.

 

“That is the Eluvian, yes,” Evelyn said, her armor gleaming in the firelight as she stepped up to Teagan. 

 

“So this thing threatens the entire palace, yet it remains only in the Inquisition’s guard? Odd, since Divine Victoria has shared how these explosives managed to get into the Palace in the first place.”

 

“We have our finest on guard, including myself,” Evelyn said. “What is the oddity?”

 

“It should be destroyed!” 

 

“I’m afraid that is out of the question, my lord.”

 

“It is a threat that must be dealt with. You’d think the Commander of the Inquisition’s Forces would be able to see that.”

 

“The Commander of the Inquisition’s Forces does,” Evelyn replied, her eyes like shards. “Which is why my finest are on guard, and why the Inquisitor himself is beyond the mirror facing this qunari threat.”

 

“Surely destroying the mirror is a bit excessive,” Cyril said. “Madame De Fer, perhaps your expert opinion on the matter?”

 

“Yes, let us hang our safety on the woman who pledged herself to the Inquisition,” Teagan snapped. “Her opinion is hardly unbiased.”

 

“My dear Arl, all this bluster really is unseemly,” Vivienne purred smoothly. “It seems hardly necessary to remind you of my position as Grand Enchanter of the College of Magi, after all. The Eluvian is a magical artifact, so unless you have another with expertise to examine it…”

 

Teagan sighed heavily and gave up, stepping away from the mirror. Vivienne approached the glass and looked at it thoughtfully. “Is it always dark like this?” she asked curiously. 

 

“Unless the Inquisitor approaches,” Evelyn supplied. 

 

Vivienne held her hand out to the mirror, a glowing blue light pulsing from her palm. “And what else?”

 

“Nothing else. No one else here seems to be able to wake it up but him. Once he’s gone, it’ll go dark.”

 

Vivienne lowered her hand from the mirror. “Gentlemen, kindly excuse us I will need the commander in here privately to examine the mirror,” she said then. “Fear not, we’ll leave the door open so you’ll know there’s no duplicity taking place, merely examining the mirror.”

 

Teagan looked like he was about to protest, but Cyril was already voicing his agreement and making for the door with Leliana, who did her best to hide her smile. Evelyn jerked her head and the soldiers and physicians took their leave. 

 

Once the others were outside, Evelyn watched Vivienne reach out to the mirror once more, her hand glowing. “We haven’t had a chance to speak, my dear,” she said coolly. “How are you? And Cullen, of course?”

 

“Holding on,” Evelyn replied, her face intent as if answering questions about the mirror. “The anchor builds power on its own now. Cullen speaks of the Veil thinning and the mark pulling from him. It was at his heart last night.”

 

“Serious indeed,” Vivienne said, looking around the back of the mirror. Evelyn peered with her from the other side. “So the anchor has grown parasitic, and Cullen is no mage. He cannot pull magic from the Fade to feed it.” 

 

“He’s dying,” Evelyn hissed. “There must be a way! Your suggestion for lyrium has worked but--” She frowned. “I can’t do this forever. And it would wound him for me to continue.”

 

“Then the answer is clear, my dear,” Vivienne said, catching her eye. “If the hand is the problem…”

 

Evelyn grit her teeth. “Maker, no,” she breathed. “Surely… surely--”

 

“Surely you know there is no other way. It is either the hand or him.”

 

Evelyn shut her eyes, her face like alabaster. When she spoke, her voice was even. “I will speak to him if-- when he returns. He must see reason.”

 

“One last sacrifice,” Vivienne’s voice carried a hint of resignation. “I will prepare what is necessary. I promise it will be painless.”

 

“Thank you,” Evelyn replied, straightening up. She stared at the mirror, her eyes as frosty in her reflection that gazed back at her. Vivienne’s voice washed over her, speaking to Teagan, but the words did not register. Cullen was the one her deepest fears hung upon. His death would be the ultimate sign. The best man she had ever the honor to meet, to love, to marry, to  _ have _ . If the Maker would not save the best of His people… what good was He? She knew what Leliana meant in Haven, and she feared it every day. If Cullen died, there was no Maker, and the world was black. What was the point of a black world? But perhaps she could save him one last time…

 

She turned to the others who were streaming back in. “So the mirror is deemed safe, for now,” Cyril purred from behind his mask. 

 

“Then surely the Inquisition would not mind if Ferelden also lent their soldiers to its guard,” Teagan added. “Just to be on the safe side. Who knows what might come through.”

 

Evelyn nodded evenly. “That might be wise. It’s a little crowded in here though. I suggest a secondary defense at the doors. Would Orlais be lending soldiers as well?” 

 

Cyril nodded. 

 

“Then once more Ferelden, Orlais and the Inquisition will stand together.”

 

“Perhaps for the last time,” Teagan drawled. 

 

Evelyn glanced at the mirror, her expression bore the deceptive calm before the storm. “Yes,” she agreed, “perhaps.”

 

++++++

 

The barracks in the Davaarad shook with the explosion of the mark, green light and power rocking the very stones as the qunari slammed backwards against the walls to be killed by mage fire and bolt and blade. Cullen was barely hanging on to his shield now as he pulled his sword out of a qunari’s face. He grunted in pain as the mark pulled again and again from him. He grit his teeth and tried to stifle the scream as the mark’s power ripped through him. He didn’t realize he had sunken down, propping himself up with his sword as the mark flared with abandon. “Maker’s breath,” he breathed as the pain and the light passed.

 

“Stay with us,” Cassandra said, helping him to his feet. Cullen nodded, gripping his shield tightly.  Behind them, a room full of artifacts and catalogs - keys for eluvians. The Qun were using the mirrors to reach out across the world. 

 

And then it came. 

 

Something else shook the barracks. The roar of a dragon. “We’re getting close,” Varric said. They headed to the door at the end of the barracks, Hawke wiping the blood from his chin. 

 

“If we make it,” Cullen grunted. “We must send people to deal with that room.”

 

“We will,” Cassandra promised. 

 

Cullen opened the door and a familiar reptilian scent drifted out. They entered an antechamber leading to a larger room. It was guarded, but even the qunari on duty was watching the spectacle in the other room. Cullen and the others snuck up, peering through the open doors. A dragon writhed there, a massive beast of green scale and golden eyes. Its scales were scarred and bloody, its body hunched and hulking as if in fear. It roared plaintively. 

 

“A dragon,” Cassandra breathed as she crouched next to Cullen. “That’s what Dragon’s breath is?”

 

“You’d think they’d be more creative,” Dorian drawled. 

 

The guard turned and began to yell the alarm, a yell cut short by Varric’s bolt to the neck. Cullen swore and stood up, his head spinning as the mark was raking through him with his magic. The voices were rising, whispering, talking, hissing at the sight of the dragon. They were outraged. The guardian, they called it. The Mother’s guardian. They were speaking over his thoughts. He shook his head as a side door opened and the Videsala entered, shouting in Qunlat. 

 

Hissing, hissing, the priests raged against the binding of the dragon. 

 

He raised his blade as the qunari stormed in, shouting their challenges, and the mark began to build its power. Cullen fought to suppress it, shaking his head to clear the voices. 

 

“You have come far, Inquisitor,” Videsala spoke from above. “No more.”

 

Cullen grit his teeth. “What have you done to it?” he shouted, but it was not his voice, it was thousands speaking through the ages. 

 

Videsala smirked. “Trust an agent of Fen’Harel to befoul the air with Elvish,” she said and turned away. “You are no man indeed, Inquisitor.” Cullen stared in puzzlement. What did she mean?

 

The qunari were upon them. Cullen deflected a blow with his shield and spun, his body moving on its own, mark burning, mind a tempest of voices crying out in rage. He poured the pain into his fight, slashing and cutting through the qunari attackers. “Get to the dragon!” he barked to the others. 

 

“You want to go towards it?” Dorian shouted aghast as he let loose a fireball in the face of a qunari. 

 

“We have to get it away from them!” Cullen said. 

 

“We don’t speak elvish, Curly!” Varric shouted, dodging a blow from a spear and firing with Bianca.

 

Cullen grunted and shook his head as the battle raged. “To the dragon--” he grunted, driving his sword into the belly of a qunari. “No dragon, no Dragon’s Breath, no threat!” 

 

Cassandra snarled and charged through, cutting them a path. Cullen followed, his legs feeling like they were not his own, his body moving of its own accord as they charged into the dragon chamber. The dragon screamed in agony again and the voices roared. Cullen fought, his sword flashing and stained with blood as they were swarmed by qunari on all sides. The beast was bound in a circle of devices upon the ground that spat a strange silvery blue fire towards it. It was hurting the dragon. The voices were a torrent in his mind, his body weakening as the pain from the mark tore through him. He flinched, his heart skipping in the mark’s baleful fire.

 

The blow came suddenly. A war hammer swung like the fist of the Maker himself. Cullen caught it too little too late. He felt the flower of agony bloom from his shield arm, his feet lifting off the ground as the voices screamed with the dragon in his mind. 

 

He landed hard, but there was no one place that hurt in the miasma of pain he was in. He turned like a rag doll, shield ripped and rent from his arm as he bounced on the ground. The mark was burning away the tattered strap in his hand. He could hear voices shouting, but no words were there in his mind save the sudden chasm of silence. He lifted his head, the mark flaring. Hot sticky blood flowed over one eye from under his hair. Cullen paid it no heed as the massive clawed foot of the dragon set down on the ground before him. 

 

His body was moved. The voices moved him. He did not tell his body to raise itself and sit on his heels. The dragon looked down upon him, golden eyes filling his universe. Cullen felt the heat of its breath, making him sweat profusely through the blood. The pain pain of his marked hand was strangely muted now by the voices that reached through him, then out his eyes. The voices were talking, calling out to the dragon and the sky through the husk that was his mind.

 

Cullen let the mark burst, explosions flared along the ring the dragon was bound in, each node of flame shattering with green light. But for Cullen, there was nothing outside of those reptilian eyes locked with his. Then the slits narrowed and the breath was sucked out of Cullen. 

 

_ Not today, dear. _

 

Wings unfurled like a hundred sails and suddenly, thrown spears clattered to the ground. Cullen looked up at the dragon that raised its head and roared now, free from its binds, its captors gawking in horror. 

 

It took a step forward, its shadow falling over Cullen, who staggered to his feet. 

 

The qunari were screaming orders now, more rushing in to reinforce the troops there. Cassandra and the others leapt from the ledge and landed, the dragon paid them more mind, its claws instead raking through the ranks of qunari who had dared to bind it. 

 

The dragon’s roars now drowned out everything else, even the voices. Cullen’s marked arm hung uselessly at his side. He was sure a bone was broken. He turned and stared at the dragon decimating the ranks. 

 

Moonlight spilled over him through the gate. The thought dropped into his head. 

 

“Dorian, Hawke,” Cullen said, his voice crisp. “The strongest barrier you can raise over us.” 

 

They stared at him, Cullen’s face covered with blood, his body bent and holding his arm, his eyes hard and golden like the dragon’s itself. 

 

“Now,” Cullen said.

 

And the room was filled with flame. The barrier was raised just in time and the fire washed over them, roaring like the voices did before. The priests in his head, meanwhile, crowed for joy. 

 

“This is like Solona in the Fade all over again!” Hawke grunted, holding his staff up to maintain the barrier. 

 

“You just watch your barrier’s points!” Dorian snapped as the wavering blue and green shield held the fire at bay. 

 

“Andraste preserve us,” Cassandra breathed. 

 

“Seeker! Curly! These switches open the gate, I think!” Varric shouted. 

 

“Let her free,” Cullen breathed, watching the storm of flames. Cassandra and Varric ran to the switches on either side of the gate. 

 

Then, as the gates began to rise, the fire ceased. Hawke and Dorian sagged as the barrier dropped, the last tongues of flame fading in the air. The dragon turned to them, its massive form shaking the ground. Around it lay the burnt husks of qunari and the melted puddles of metal were all that was left of its binding circle. It peered at Cullen, who stared at it in strange commune. He was Mythal’s vessel, and he knew. He knew.

 

This dragon was hers.

 

The qunari had defiled her grove for its guardian, but the dragon had its revenge. The priests were sated that the blasphemy was punished. 

 

The dragon raised its head and looked out at the open gate. There were qunari across the bridge. They turned to see Cullen, mark blazing, dragon rearing behind him as it stalked out over him and his party. 

 

Cullen turned and walked out of the gate. Once in the moonlight, the dragon roared and charged the qunari, knocking many off the bridge and hauling one into the air as it rose into the heavens. Cullen broke out into a charge across the bridge, sword tight in his hand, his eyes like shards. There was only anger beyond the realms of his pain, and his eyes set upon the Videsala who watched him with a massive bound Saarebas beside her. 

 

But anger could only take him so far. His mark flared and he screamed in pain as his footsteps faltered. He tumbled to his knees, the marked hand lighting the bridge like a small sun. “Cullen!” Hawke exclaimed, reaching out to him. 

 

“Get back!” Cullen shouted, blinking through the blood and sweat. “It’ll burst - stay back!” 

 

They backed away from him at his command. Cullen looked up, the mark practically blinding. Behind the Videsala was another eluvian. Her Saarebas stepped through. “Dear Inquisitor, you have such little time left,” Videsala shouted to them. “You must finally see the truth! Elven magic already tore the sky apart. If the agents of Fen’Harel are not stopped, you will shatter the world as well.”

 

Cullen pushed himself to his feet. He would not bow and speak to the Videsala. “And Dragon’s Breath is so much better?” he spat. “You’re wrong, Videsala. And you’re wrong about the agents. We know nothing of these agents of Fen’Harel!”

 

The Videsala’s eyes narrowed. “Come now, Inquisitor,” she sneered. “I am the eyes and ears of the Qunari people. Do you think you can deceive me? You would have died from the mark if not for one of their chief agents. The same who led you to Skyhold and founded the Inquisition!”

 

Cullen’s eyes widened, the realization hitting him like dragon fire. “Solas,” he breathed. 

 

Videsala seemed to be enjoying the horror of his realization. “The one who gave the orb to Corypheus. Yes. Solas, agent of Fen’Harel.”

 

“What?” Cassandra gasped. 

 

Cullen grit his teeth, struggling to stand, but the voices were already speaking over his own incredulity, offering their own version of events, a version Cullen shuddered to think of. The image flashed in his mind, a figure standing above all others that waged in war by the lake, an orb raised to the heavens, a pillar of green light. It was not possible…

 

But it was true.

 

“You didn’t know?” Videsala asked. “We thought you were his ally. Then it seems Solas tricked us all, Inquisitor. He pushed the qunari into the Winter Palace to lure you into opposing us. Without him, we could have brought the South peace and wisdom along the gentle path, now we must take the way of blades.”

 

The mark flared and Cullen grit his teeth, crying out in pain as he staggered. Varric caught him.

 

“Panahedan, Inquisitor,” Videsala said as she stepped through the mirror. “If it is any consolation, Solas will not outlive you.”

 

Cullen grunted, straightening up. “Curly,” Varric said. “If it was Solas--”

 

“Solas is more than that,” Cullen hissed. “More-- moving mirrors, one only the mark unlocks. Mark is the key. It’s killing me. Bastard! No wonder he was so angry I drank from the well!”

 

“What do you mean?” Hawke asked. 

 

“I mean…” Cullen growled. “I mean I need to find out _why_. Maker help me…”

  
“Whatever you need, we are with you,” Cassandra said, tightening his grip on his sword. “Lead the way, Inquisitor.”

 


	53. The Dread Wolf - Trespasser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta-ed!

The palace was quiet in the evenings, with no meetings. All the nobles and the Exalted Council could do was wait for the Inquisitor’s return. But there was still politics to deal with. In a show of solidarity between the Inquisition and the Council, particularly Teagan, Leliana had invited them to dine together. They were seated around a grand dining table with Josephine absolutely charming the Duke with conversation. Teagan, though, seemed more restrained. Evelyn barely said anything, her mind at the mirror. She let the conversation wash around her. She irked at the fact that she had to be present. Cullen was away through the mirror and here she was, dining on wine poached pheasant.

 

She had purged the ranks of the Qunari. The blood from questioning their agents had been hard to wash from her hands. It was still not over. There were more agents to find, every platoon revealed new names. A servant murmured something to her. She blinked then, looking up. There were other servants bringing in the desserts. The young elf placed a bowl of chilled clotted cream before Evelyn, but the spoon tumbled to the floor from its place on the bowl, smearing some cream on Evelyn’s sleeve. “Pardon!” the girl piped, worriedly.

 

“It’s fine,” Evelyn began, bending to reach for the spoon. And then Evelyn saw Leliana moving, knife drawn from beneath her robes. Evelyn ducked as the blade flew, thrown from a graceful underhand throw. The blade sank into the belly of the servant serving her ice cream. The girl fell, a poignard dagger visible under her sleeve. The other servants erupted in screams. Evelyn saw the servant by Teagan draw a knife. She charged from her chair and tackled the servant, throwing the elf down to the ground. Her elbow broke his jaw with a satisfying crack and left him slumped on the floor unconscious.

 

Guards were streaming in now, subduing the servants who were drawing knives. Leliana watched the scene, standing still, her eyes flaring as Josephine tried to mollify Teagan and Cyril who were crying out in outrage.

 

Evelyn swore and stood up. “Qunari agents! Right here!” Teagan was yelling. “Do you know what this means?”

 

“The Inquisition is in the midst of rooting out the agents,” Josephine was saying. “For now, please, stay calm, we must get you to safety--”

 

“The Duke and Arl will be escorted to their rooms. Guards will be posted,” Evelyn barked. She looked at her troops, holding down three of the remaining conscious servants, all holding blades. “And get this lot to the cells, Harding’s agents will question them. And inform Captain Rylen he is required at the mirror at once.”

 

“Yes, Commander.”

 

The soldiers hauled them up. Evelyn looked at Leliana. “We need to move quickly,” Leliana said. “My men will root out the rest of the spies. Until then--”

 

“Until then, we must fortify the palace, with your permission, your perfection,” Evelyn said. “I will bring in the thirty-seventh legion outside Halamshiral. The Duke and the Arl will remain in their rooms until further notice for their own safety.”

 

“You’re going to overrun the palace with troops!” Teagan protested.

 

“For your safety,” Evelyn said sharply. “Lady Josephine will liase with you when it’s safest for you to emerge.”

 

There came sounds of fighting from the outside. Evelyn felt her heart sinking. “And I think that will be a long while yet,” she said.

 

++++

 

Cullen staggered through the mirror, his body no longer trilling with pain - pain was now a soaring symphony. He couldn’t think straight, it was a mist in his mind. He stumbled, clutching at his heart as the mark’s magic reached inside him. His chestplate and furs had long disintegrated in the fight with saarebas, He gasped and looked behind him, glad the others had followed his command and not followed him. He turned then and gasped, a hand grasping his head. He swatted it with his sword and stumbled back. It was a frozen Qunari, bound in stone, face pulled back in a snarl and sword raised, but forever encased in the same spell that bound so many he’d seen before. What manner of magic was this? Cullen had never seen magic so powerful. Not even from Uldred--

 

Cages, bindings, the smell of blood strong in the air - sharp and metallic--

 

Screaming. Screaming and the fires of agony rising over the whisper voices of the well--

 

The pain from his anchor stripped away the visions in his head and he realized his heart was hammering in his chest. He grit his teeth, almost grateful for the searing pain up his arm and across his chest. He had trouble breathing with the mark flaring and flashing.

 

He looked up at the glimmer of a mirror on a hillock beyond the frozen Qunari. He has things to do. There were voices coming from the mirror - one of them the Vidasalla, another spoke elvish--

 

Cullen’s eyes widened, his footsteps quickened.

 

He knew that voice.

 

Shaking fingers grasped the statue before him. He stepped around it and saw, felt, a burst of magic that was familiar. So familiar it called to mind the smell of mountain air in the Hinterlands, the whispering of the Fade, the oddly soothing voice who spoke to him in Elven. The voice of a person he once called ‘friend’. But now, perhaps, he knew better.

 

Cullen staggered up the path to where a mirror glimmered down upon them. Standing as proud as his name implied, Solas turned to him, his hands behind his back, his eyes as distant as the farthest reaches of the Fade. It was him. Cullen’s heart leapt, and he hated that it did so. Beside him was the frozen form of the Vidasalla, bound in stone like all the other Qunari. “Solas,” Cullen grunted. “You--”

 

And the mark flared. He grit his teeth and cried out, the pain tearing through him, stabbing through his heart and head and setting off flashes of lights in his eyes as the voices screamed. He fell to his knees, feeling the scream leaving his lips and throat but hearing nothing over the voices.

 

And then, like the soothing touch of the breeze on a sweltering day, the touch of magic soothed the mark, and the green fire freed him. Cullen saw bare feet before him as he caught his breath. For once, for once, all pull of the mark was gone, bound by a will greater than his. And the voices too were silenced, not a whisper ebbed in his mind. He looked up at Solas, standing before him, seeing the slight smile on his face. “That should give us more time,” he said, holding out a hand to Cullen. Cullen took it and Solas helped him to his feet. He stood there, catching his breath as Solas let go of his hand. “I suspect you have questions,” Solas smiled.

 

Cullen straightened up. “Some the Qunari answered,” he muttered gripping his wrist, staring down at the silent mark. “Some the voices did, when they screamed too hard for you to quieten them.” Cullen lifted his eyes to Solas’s, his own burning in the face of Solas’s calm little smile. “You’re Fen’Harel. You’re the Dread Wolf.”

 

Solas seemed pleased. “Well done.”

 

“Stop talking like I puzzled out some ancient Elven riddle!” Cullen growled.

 

“Yet you have done exactly that. I was Solas first. Fen’Harel came later - an insult I took as a badge of pride. The ‘Dread Wolf’ inspired hope in my friends and fear in my enemies. Not unlike ‘Inquisitor’, I suppose.”

 

“We are nothing alike!”

 

“Do you not also carry a title that all but replaces your name? You fight for something greater than you.”

 

“You freed those slaves, didn’t you? All those stories, the paintings… you saved the tale of your exploits. Even those in Skyhold. Paintings of your manipulations.”

 

“My manipulations? You give me too much credit, Cullen.”

 

“I should give you more than you realize!”

 

“I sought to free them, Cullen. I broke the chains of all who would join me. The Dalish are closer to the tale than many, but even they are prone to mistaking me for more than I am. The False Gods called me Fen’Harel. Then they went too far, and I formed the Veil and banished them forever.” Solas’s gaze turned to the ruins in the cliffs that stretched out around them, his eyes lowered. “Thus I freed the Elven people, and in so doing, destroyed their world.” There was no pride in his words.

 

Cullen gathered himself, thinking clearly for the first time now that his mark wasn’t ripping his heart apart. There were parts of this history he did not know, parts hidden from him. He shut his eyes, searching the voices, trying to find the answers to the questions he knew now to ask. What made Fen’Harel destroy the world?

 

And as clear as day, there came a scream from the darkness, a scream that echoed the cursed the very heavens in pain and loss. And the sorrow that washed over him was palpable, he could taste the bitter ash of it in his mouth. He hissed and shut his eyes, the vision of blood, red and dark, flowing across the stones like a tide, the air wavering and sparking with wild magic. Then the vision ripped apart to reveal a single figure standing on a hill, two armies charging across the vast plains before him, the air and earth shaking with the thunder of their charge. The figure raised its arm, a glowing green sphere Cullen knew so well. The vision drew nearer, and there - Solas, his long braided and beaded locks flowing, his eyes blazing with rage and fire and the heart of the tempest, unleashed the spell. It tore the world apart into a blinding white light, flickering with the green magic of the Fade. Solas could barely stand, blood beginning to pour from his eyes and ears and nose. The smell of burning flesh, so familiar from the mark on his hand, filled his nose, and Solas’s hair was seared from his body as the magic ripped into him.

 

Then, the vision vanished, flickering from his mind. Cullen blinked in the present, breathing hard. He looked up at Solas, who was watching him with thoughtful eyes. “Does the truth of the voices set your mind at ease?” Solas asked.

 

“You know what I saw?”

 

“We are bound, Cullen. It was why you should not have drank from the Well.”

 

“Mythal is dead, isn’t she? She was in Flemeth. She is the reason you…” Cullen’s voice faded into silence, his mind shying away from the horrible realization. “All those people… you wiped them out. You killed them, for her.”

 

“It was far more than that, Cullen. You saw the Vir Dithara, did you not? That place was intrinsically tied to the Fade. It, and many others were destroyed by the Veil. And the Elven legends of immortality? All true. It was not the arrival of the humans that caused us to begin aging.”

 

Cullen grit his teeth. “So you’ve killed your people, and have continued to kill them for thousands of years since... And yet you banished the other gods beyond the Veil, instead of killing them, if they were even Gods.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“There is no god but the Maker,” Cullen said immediately.

 

“You say that now, even after all you’ve seen?”

 

“That’s what Faith is, Solas,” Cullen snapped. “And these so-called Gods - they were mages, were they not?”

 

“It is true you see further than most.”

 

“Yes, this big stupid Templar act amuses everyone, rest assured.”

 

Solas smiled at him. “They were not always called ‘gods’, that is true. It began with a war. War breeds fear, fear compels people to look for certainty - good and evil, black and white, chains of command.” Cullen lowered his eyes. To his shame, this was a familiar tale of fear, one he had lived through himself. “And after the war, respected generals become Elders, then Kings, then Gods,” Solas went on. “The Evanuris.”

 

“Why not just kill them? Why banish them and destroy your people?”

 

“They killed Mythal, and the first of my people do not die so easily,” Solas said. He chuckled. “A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment.”

 

“Why?”

 

“She was the best of them. You have met her, have you not? She cared for her people, a voice of reason in the madness. And in their lust for power, they killed her.”

 

“You took everything from them,” Cullen breathed. Solas turned his gaze to the ruins.

 

“I did what I must,” Solas sighed, turning from the ruins and walking back to the mirror. “I slept for ages past, and was still weak when I joined you in Haven.”

 

“Which wouldn’t have happened if not for you! That orb - it was yours! Why did Corypheus have it?”

 

Solas stopped. “That was unintended. As I lay sleeping through the millennia, the orb had built up incredible magical energy. I was not powerful enough to unlock it.”

 

“So you handed it to him, hoping he would unlock it so you could claim it when he died. But you did not expect him to have learned immortality, did you? Did you care that he used the Divine to unlock it? Did you care that everyone in the temple died? People I knew! Good people! You would have let them all die!”

 

“Because I will do what I must,” he said, not turning around. “I will do everything in my power to save the Elven people. Even if it means this world must die.”

 

Cullen snarled. “Solas,” he hissed. “Why? Why does this world have to die for the Elves to return?”

 

“A good question, but not one I will answer.”

 

“Maker, when has that ever stopped you before?”

 

Solas turned, a slight smile on his face. “You have always shown a thoughtfulness that I respected, after you were done hitting things,” he chuckled. “It would be too easy to tell you too much.”

 

“I will not stand by and let you do this, Solas!” Cullen snarled.

 

The smile faded from Solas’s face. “I know,” he sighed, walking up to Cullen. “I am not Corypheus. I take no joy in this, but the return of my people means the end of yours. It is my fight.”

 

Cullen’s fists closed around the lapels of the hood Solas wore and he pulled the elf close. “It is _my_ fight,” Cullen hissed as Solas looked at him with calm in his eyes. “If you think I will stand by and let you destroy the world after everything I’ve sacrificed to save it--”

 

“You should be worried about your Inquisition,” Solas cut him off. “Your Inquisition.”

 

“ _My_ Inquisition?”

 

“I gave no orders.”

 

“You led us to Skyhold! You used me. All of us. You used us to clean up your mess. And now you’re going to throw us away for your own agenda.” Cullen’s hands began to shake.

 

“Corypheus should have died unlocking my orb. When he survived, my plans were thrown into chaos. When you survived, I saw the Inquisition was the best hope this world had of stopping him.” Then the smile returned. “And you needed a home. Hence, Skyhold.”

 

Cullen’s grip on Solas loosened. “Andraste preserve me,” he breathed. “You care nothing of us.” He looked down at the mark. “You only wanted the mark…”

 

“That was the original intent,” Solas adjusted his robes. “To enter the Fade with the mark you bear, and tear down the veil. As this world burned in the raw chaos, I would rebuild the world of my time… the world of the Elves.”

 

“And free your Evanuris?” Cullen spat.

 

“I had plans.”

 

“To the Void with your plans!”

 

“I did not lead a rebellion against mage-kings without getting my hands bloody, Cullen.” Solas glared at him. “You must understand, I awoke in a world where the Veil blocked most people’s conscious connection to the Fade. It was like walking through a world of--”

 

“Tranquil.” Cullen’s hands balled into fists. “We aren’t even people to you…”

 

“Not at first. You showed me that I was wrong… again. That does not make what must come next any easier.”

 

Cullen snorted. “So I should thank you for the castle, for whatever it’s worth.”

 

“For whatever it’s worth, you used it well. You created a powerful organization, and now it suffers the inevitable fate of such: betrayal and corruption.”

 

Cullen glared at Solas pointedly. “I can see that much. And it’s not as simple as you say.”

 

“Do you not know how I discovered the Qunari plot? A plot I disrupted by leading them to your doorstep? The Qunari spies in the inquisition tripped over my spies in the Inquisition. The elven guard you call Charter? Mine.”

 

“Your aid is small comfort when you’re going to destroy the world regardless!”

 

“You have shown me that there is value in this world, Cullen. I take no joy in what I must do.” Solas shook his head. “And until that day comes, I will see those recovering from the Breach free of the Qun. If they must die, I would rather they die in comfort.”

 

Cullen stared at him incredulously.

 

“But, there is still the matter of the Anchor,” Solas went on. His eyes fell on Cullen’s hand and the mark flared once more, tearing through Cullen’s body and making him scream. He sank to the ground, writhing in agony. He gripped his wrist in the water underneath his feet staining with blood dripping from his hand. “We are running out of time,” Solas’s voice sounded in his mind through the torrential pain. “Ultimately, none but I could have borne the Anchor and lived.” Solas knelt before him and took his hand.

 

Cullen grunted and writhed, but his hand was firmly in Solas’s grasp, blood and flesh dripping from the mark into the water, staining it red. “I won’t let you do this--” he hissed. “If I live-- you know I’ll find you.”

 

“I know.” Solas lifted his free hand, flaring with blue light. “And I am sorry.” The light burst and the mark tore apart. Cullen screamed, watching his own hand fall apart, flesh and fingers dropping into the water. The pain was beyond being run through with a sword, but the pulling in his heart was gone. He slumped in the water, eyes scrunched shut as he felt the pull of the mark’s magic fading from his heart.

 

Cullen drew a shaking breath. “As am I,” he whispered.

 

“Live well,” Solas said, rinsing in front of him as Cullen slumped down, the world swimming in and out of focus as his hand bled. A voice ghosted into his awareness. “While time remains…”

 

++++

 

The fight had been long and hard. Qunari spies had wreaked their havok among the soldiers. The blood was still drying in the corridors around the room with the mirror. The soldiers were carrying out the corpses as a physician bandaged the Rylen’s leg. Evelyn pored over a map of the palace as Rufus reported the last knots of fighting. Beside her, a physician was dabbing at the dried blood that stained her cheek, her right eye bandaged.

 

“Harding informs us that the last of the spies have been rooted out,” Rufus was saying. “They are currently clustered in the west wing. Captain Rainier is leading the charge against them. The Chargers are on guard by the door and the boy Cole is sweeping the hallways to, uh--”

 

“Help people,” Evelyn finished off. “Have the captured spies given us any information yet?”

 

“Not as yet,” Rufus said uncomfortably. “Sister Nightingale is working on it.”

 

“Then we’ll--”

 

The mirror beside them burst to life. Evelyn pushed away the hand of the physician dabbing her blood away as silence fell in the blue light, only the hammering of her heart thundered in her ears.

 

The glass wavered. Evelyn reached for her sword. “It’s only us,” came a voice she was praying to hear. Varric stepped out of the glass, wounded, blood pouring from a gash on his cheek.

 

“Andraste…” Evelyn breathed in short-lived relief. She gestured for the physicians to tend to the wound on Varric as Dorian stepped through. Dorian was bloodied but alive, his robes streaked with soot and blood. But Evelyn did not dare to hope.

 

“He’s breathing,” Dorian said seriously to her. “We all are, but he’s a little worse for wear, I’m afraid.”

 

“What do you mean?” she hissed.

 

And the glass wavered once more, and Cassandra came through, holding Cullen with his arm draped over her shoulder. “Cullen--” she gasped.

 

“He is alive,” Cassandra said immediately, her eyes meeting Evelyn’s. “But he will never hold a shield again. The mark has mutilated his hand beyond healing.”

 

Evelyn drew a breath, her head rising. She could feel eyes upon her. Cullen was alive, that was the main thing. “Get him to the infirmary,” she said tersely to the physicians. “Along with Lady Cassandra and the others. Rufus, send a guard. And Rylen, you should go too.”

 

She returned to her map as more reports came in. “Summon Lady Vivienne as well, perhaps she can help.” Evelyn looked down at the papers, reading the report.

 

There was an almost stunned silence in the room. “Perhaps you should see to him,” Rylen spoke up, breaking the spell.

 

“Personal isn’t the same as important,” Evelyn said. “If the Inquisitor wakes up and finds I have lost the Palace to Qunari spies, he will be very upset.” She realized how hollow her voice was, how cold she sounded. The physicians began to lay Cullen on a stretcher. Evelyn’s heart cried out to the sky, to the Maker who never answered her. For once in her life, she raged against that silence, as if the Maker were not there to even reach out to her, to Cullen. She set down the report, her eyes vulnerable for a fleeting moment as she looked at Cassandra being led to the infirmary. “Please watch over him, Seeker,” Evelyn breathed. “Please, ask them to do everything they can. Whatever it takes...”

 

Gravely, Cassandra nodded.


	54. Legend - Trespasser

There were no words in this space. There was no pain. Everything was quiet in the dark, except for the voices. Cullen could never hear the words proper. There were just murmurs and… feelings associated with them. He couldn’t even tell whose they were. Some made him feel calm, comforted, at ease, while others filled him with intimidation, respect, even annoyance. The sounds and the emotions swirled around in his mind. Occasionally, he would hear someone crying, and the sound would tear at his heart.  

 

Then there were dreams - odd dreams. Dreams of ruins, fields of corpses laying on the blood-soaked ground, among the waving black grass lit by a silver moon. He dreamt of echoing footsteps in hallways. “Help me!” A desperate cry from an old, wavering voice met his ears before burning red eyes filled the very universe. Cullen felt himself whimper and shrink away from those eyes before they burst into baleful green fire. “Everyone in the temple is dead,” a voice intoned in the dark, “except for you. You’re lying.” And then more voices intruded - laughter and the hiss of demons, claws stroking his skin, the wetness of a tongue pushing through his lips. _Let me in…_ His mind recoiled from the memory, but he was bound. The memory treacherously bled into a fortress of green flames and darkness, fire all around him, burning his skin. _I will know you._ There was no way free, no escape, no respite from the fire and the poisonous whispers.

 

Cullen stirred in his sleep and the vision faded to gray and icy cold, frost biting at his feet and crunching under his boots as he walked. His breath was quick and desperate, resonating through his head over the sound of the bitterly cold winds that carried the freshly tossed snow like the living breath of winter. “There he is!” _Cassandra?_ “Thank the Maker!” He looked up into eyes of arctic blue, large and round, like those of the dolls Rosalie had loved...

 

A hand on his shoulder filled him with warmth and light and music as the halls of Halamshiral rose from the snow around him. Music filled the air, rising to the stars above. He found himself looking down onto the dance floor as he stood with the others nobles of the court. Below, the Duchess danced with Corypheus as the crowd clapped on. She did not stop as arrows sprouted from her neck and back in a spray of blood, her smile unfading as Morrigan’s frost crept up her body. Still she danced, blood blooming in the ice. Cullen averted his eyes and saw the face of the man next to him. Instead of being donned in those masks the Orlesians foolishly favoured, the noble turned to smile at him with the grinning rictus of a bloodied skull. Cullen gasped and backed away, bumping into a noblewoman who turned to look at him with eyes sitting in skinless, lidless sockets, rot and corruption spreading from her corseted bosom and up her neck. Cullen could not scream as the nobles turned to him one by one, closing in, clapping, grinning with their dead and corrupted faces. A bony hand crept across his chest and Cullen swatted it away, sloughing flesh off as he did so. The Duchess smiled her dead smile at him, the arrow sticking out of her neck. “Save me a dance?” she purred, as fingers grasped his neck.

 

Cullen screamed. Then he was falling as the floor vanished under him. Ancient cliffs streaked upwards around him as he plummeted. He saw the dragon below, falling as he was, the ground rapidly closing in on them both. He panicked as he had back at Adamant, and let the mark blaze forth with its green light.

 

The creaking sound of the Fade filled his ears. There was a sword in his hand. It felt solid. Solid and reassuring. Cullen looked up and saw Uldred, passive and waiting, standing in the waters of the Fade. Around him there were other people fighting, figures shrouded by the haze of forgetfulness, but he didn’t care. Cullen could not stop the bile from rising within him, could not stop the rage as he gripped the sword and stared at Uldred’s cold, calculating eyes - eyes that calculated how long it would take for Cullen to be consumed by the demon placed with him. “Kill him,” Nightmare said. “Kill him like he did all the others.” Cullen did not need telling twice. He snarled and charged as the red mists closed in around him.

 

Uldred fought back. Cullen liked that. But Uldred was using a sword - stupid man. It didn’t matter as long as Cullen got to kill him again. He cut at the man, letting his rage wash over him. Then he grabbed a headful of dark, wavy hair on Uldred’s head. Blue eyes looked up at him, large and suddenly frightened, but blue like Uldred’s. He gripped the hair tighter and brought the pommel of his sword down upon that face.

 

“Stop!”

 

Cullen struck again. And again. He found himself standing to the side, watching himself through the haze, grinning as the blood flew. He looked down at the figure in armor, black hair bloodied as he gripped it, refusing to let go. He knew that face. “Stop,” he breathed. He watched himself strike her again, a lifeless blue eye watching him watch them through a mask of blood. “Stop!” Cullen croaked and charged at the figure of himself. With the glint of a blade, Evelyn fell from his grasp, leaving her hair behind in his fist as Cullen careened into himself, his outstretched hands flaring into the form of a bear.

 

He tumbled to the ground, pinning himself down with those massive paws. But it was not him who landed upon the slimy ground of the Fade. A weathered face looked up at him, cloaked in the robes of the Divine. “Your Perfection!” Cullen breathed in shock, human once more.

 

“If that is the story you wish to tell,” she said, her mouth and her eyes illuminated by an ethereal glow from within as she transfigured beneath him, “it is not a bad one.”

 

He rose off her, the light hurting him, blinding him as he fled.

 

 _You are hopeless, helpless, hurting_ …

 

Cullen’s hands were covered in Evelyn’s blood. Hissing through his teeth, he ran and ran, eyes shut as his feet pounded on the ground.

 

_What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?_

 

Cullen futility tried to bite back the tears, but they came anyway, streaming behind him as he fled.

 

_You cannot run from this._

 

“Go away!” he wept, raging at the voice that tried to sooth. “What are you doing here?”

 

_I’m here to help._

 

Cullen heard his footfall hit water and he staggered to a halt. He opened his eyes to the blazing sunlight of the grove in the Temple of Mythal. He was soaked to the knees, the pool rising around him, water flowing upwards into the sky, shimmering blue as the familiar voices hissed from the waters. He turned to look behind him and saw the sight he most feared, Corypheus rising upon a dark cloud, eyes blazing red and lips pulled into a snarl - a figure larger than the horizon. Cullen whimpered and raised his arms, the voices rising to a crescendo as Corypheus closed in on him.

 

Then there was nothing.

 

Quiet.

 

Cullen opened his eyes slowly. A tower sat upon a tiny islet in the middle of a peaceful lake, the water stained purple and gold by the light of the setting sun. He looked down, his feet upon the weathered wood of the pier that stretched out over the water. Smaller, feet in smaller boots, caked with mud and hay and grass. His face felt wet and hot from tears. He brought his sleeve up to wipe them away. There were no red eyes here, no blood on his hands, no faces of the dead or biting cold.

 

Just the smell of lavender, and the lap of water upon the pebbles of the shore.

 

He sat down and hugged his knees, trying to calm his quivering breath. Like so many times in his childhood, he started to cry by the edge of the pier, overwhelmed by… everything. No one knew he came here to cry into the rough cotton over his knees.

 

Footsteps made him look up. He blinked the tears from his eyes and saw a gangly youth in dirty leathers sitting down beside him, his head framed like a halo with a wide-brimmed, floppy hat. “Your mother knew,” Cole said, hanging his feet over the edge of the pier. “She asked the others to leave you alone.”

 

“You’re here,” Cullen said, his voice high and young. He dashed the tears from his eyes with his sleeve again.

 

“Yes.”

 

Cullen sniffed and lowered his knees. He saw himself next to Cole in the reflections on the water. “You’re always here.”

 

“Yes. And no.” Cole swung his feet as he rocked, something Cullen found oddly soothing. They saw quietly for a while as Cole rocked, and Cullen’s cheeks dried. Somewhere a bird sang, its lilting song peppering the air.

 

“Nightmares and whispers in the night, no strike you yourself have not delivered, what is deeper water to one already drowning? But you don’t have to be.”

 

Cullen said nothing, staring into the depths of the water.

 

“Waking up will be harder than being here.”

 

Cullen lowered his eyes to look at his hands, his own hands, wrapped in leather gloves. “I could stay here.”

 

“Yes.” Cole’s legs idly swung over the water. “But you don’t have to.”

 

One of Cullen’s hands began to glow. He knew it should be hurting, he knew he should be afraid as his leather burned away in the green fire. “Does it matter?” Cullen asked.

 

Cole looked at him. “Does it?”

 

Cullen looked down at his hand again, his face passive as he watched it burn. He didn’t even feel pain. “Safe like a coin tucked away in your pocket, safe like the ring around your neck and around hers. She’ll always wear it there. Rings catch on armor and swords.”

 

Cullen blinked at the memory of the ring, of the coin by the lake. “I forgot everything Varric helped me with,” he heard in his mind, Evelyn’s voice. Her soft apologetic eyes came to his mind’s eye as she realized she’d forgotten all her carefully worded vows for the wedding. “I’m terrible at this!”

 

_I swear unto the Maker to love you the rest of my days._

 

He looked up at the lake with its ruined tower. She had cried during the ceremony. She cried over the cat. She cried because she was happy. He, meanwhile, shed too many tears in fear, in pain, in guilt and loathing. The tears he shed at his wedding were the sweetest. He had promised they would be the first of many joyful tears.

 

He clenched his jaw, looking down into the water as he gripped the wood of the pier and leaned forward. The burning from his hand was charring the wood of the pier.

 

As Cole continued to rock and swing his legs, he smiled.

 

“Good,” Cole said.

 

Cullen plunged into the water, the fire on his arm flaring as he sank beneath the waves into the darkness, leaving the wavering sight of Cole on the pier far above him. Light was stripped away, sound consumed by the waters around him as he sank farther and farther away from the surface and into the silence.

 

_The rest of his days were not over._

 

New sounds began to intrude in the darkness. There was a ringing in his ears that faded as other noises intruded. Awareness crept into his mind that the darkness was no longer all around him, but only behind his eyes. No longer were his limbs bouyed up by water, but cushioned by a down-filled mattress instead, as warm and soft as a lover’s embrace.

 

He opened his eyes and the world swam into focus. Above his head, the ceiling, painted white and with gold glittering in the filigree. His right side was dull and thudding with pain. Vague memories of mirrors and mirrored lakes filled his mind. He couldn’t remember. He grunted as he sat up. He was in his quarters in Halamshiral. He pondered on the dream that was already rapidly falling away, like morning mists burned in the sunlight. None of his dream, what little he could recall, had made sense. Why was his head so groggy?

 

He raised his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes. And the world came crashing down around him.

 

++++

  


 

The War Council was in session. The room was sombre, made even more so by Leliana in her Divine Robes at the head of the table at which Josephine, Evelyn, Cassandra and Harding were seated. The table was dominated, however, by Cullen’s empty chair. Evelyn kept her eyes averted from it and set down the report she held, the candlelight reflecting off her armor. “We can confirm that the last of the Qunari spies are being rounded up,” she reported. “Those whom we had captured, we need to watch. Many continue to assert that the Qun will find a way, despite what Lady Cassandra reports about the Vidasalla being bound in stone. They say another will come and teach us all. This conflicts with Varric’s report of the Arishok’s stance, but we cannot presume the Arishok’s stand has not changed in the last few years. There is a possibility that all this was under his orders.”

 

“And the elves?” Josephine asked.

 

“Charter is gone. I can confirm that.” Evelyn scratched under her bandage across her right eye. “That concerns me. She was trusted, and high-ranking, privy to sensitive information.”

 

“The elves in our ranks are dwindling,” Harding reported, seated beside Evelyn. “It’s clear that they’re leaving and walking off into the woods. But for some reason, none of our scouts can keep track of them.”

 

“Is it possible they are being assisted somehow?” Leliana asked, her blue eyes intent.

 

“Possible,” Harding replied. “Our scouts are well-trained. To lose a mark is… unlike them.”

 

“Solas, no doubt,” Cassandra said, lacing her fingers.

 

“That is presuming--” Josephine began and hesitated, glancing at Evelyn.

 

“Go on,” Evelyn said. “You needn’t mince words around me.”

 

Josephine pursed her lips, her eyes uncertain. “That is presuming the Inquisitor’s report was, shall we say, complete,” she tried.

 

“Was he coherent?” Leliana asked. “When you found him, I mean.”

 

“He was swearing,” Cassandra replied, her voice gentler. “And screaming. It was as coherent as we can make it. He spoke as I reported. ‘Solas all along. It was him all along. He means to kill us.’ Those were his words.”

 

Evelyn crumpled inside. The sight of his hand in the infirmary, bloodied to the bone, dead seared flesh falling from the mark as its fire lanced up his veins and into his chest. His heart was wreathed with a green glow. His cries of pain as his arm was eaten away echoed in Evelyn’s being even now. Screams and sobs, the green light pulsing in his chest with his heartbeat.

 

It had taken three men to hold him down before Vivienne could give him the sleeping draught to numb his pain. Evelyn held him, cradled his head through it all. He barely moved as the limb was severed with the healer’s glinting blade. She couldn’t watch the limb coming off, her eyes fixed upon the green glow in his chest.

 

As the necrotic limb thudded to the floor, Evelyn watched as the glow gently faded. Her injured eye burned as she teared, holding Cullen tighter as he slept with ashen face and wavering breath. Cullen was tearing in his sleep. What did that mean?

 

Cassandra’s hand fell upon her shoulder. “All of him was saved,” Cassandra had said, and Evelyn heard her own sadness echoed in the Seeker’s voice. “All of him that matters.”

 

Voices drifted back to Evelyn’s ears as she pulled herself back to the present. “...cannot know the full extent until his report is in,” Leliana was speaking.

 

“Meanwhile, we cannot deny that the Council is still waiting and watching,” Josephine added, tapping her clipboard. “We have done well to root out the spies, but without the Inquisitor, they may move to dissolve the Inquisition.”

 

“I would like to see them try.” Leliana’s voice was like ice.

 

“Surely they would not move against us when the Inquisitor is so, uh, gravely injured,” Harding added.

 

“That is exactly why they would,” Josephine replied. “The rumours circulating are that the Inquisitor is dead, or dying. That we’re covering it up.” Evelyn realized her hands were shaking as she held her sheaf of reports. That was not true. Vivienne has assured her - Dorian has assured her that Cullen would make it!

 

“Rumours I have come down hard upon,” Leliana said.

 

“Even if he were to wake, there would be little evidence of this new threat,” Josephine said tentatively. “I must have something solid to place before the council. All we have is some elves defecting from our ranks, which we have recently found to be corrupted by spies, and Cullen’s word.”

 

“Is that not enough?”

 

Silence rang as the words hung in the air. Evelyn looked up at them all, her eye under the bandage burning with pain. “He gave everything there was in him to give,” she went on. “Is that not enough? Ask the Council if they would rather he died before they believed the truth of his words, Josephine.”

 

“If you only knew how I wish I could speak to them so candidly,” Josephine snapped. “Yet I am the one who has to keep them at bay as they circle the Inquisition like vultures. As long as the Inquisitor is indisposed, they will tear us apart! Already their trust in us is lacking with the Qunari spies and the assassination attempt _and_ the fighting in the halls - they have done little else but outright blame us for the security breach.

 

“All we have now is a garbled recount of ancient elven gods and tearing down the veil. That goes against everything we believe in as Andrastean, and all they have as proof is one man’s word. They will not see the justification in letting the institution continue to exist. Not even if it is Cullen telling them that.”

 

Josephine drew a quivering breath, her cheeks flushed. She lowered her eyes and straightened her sheaf of papers, the edges tapping against her clip board loudly in the tense quiet that hung over the table like a pall. Evelyn was staring at her reports in silence. “I’m sorry, Evelyn,” Josephine went on, her voice kinder. “We all worry about his recovery. But that is… the reality of the situation. We must keep things afloat. The Council now is more dangerous to the Inquisition than the Qunari spies of the defecting elves, right now.”

 

“After everything, they question his word,” Evelyn snorted.

 

“You know they will,” Josephine shook her head. “And more.”

 

Evelyn drew a breath and leaned her elbows on the table, pinching the bridge of her nose to calm the throbbing in her head. “Can we do this without him for a while?” she asked then. “I know you’re in a difficult situation, Josie, but I don’t know if he’ll be fully functional when he awakens.” _Please let him be alright..._

 

“We will do what we can to stall them,” Leliana said soothingly. “They cannot act in haste without looking ungrateful. The Inquisitor is alive. I can call in some favours with some of the nobles to put in some praise for the Inquisition. Perhaps a swelling of ground support might make the Council hesitate further.”

 

“That is a possibility,” Josephine replied. Evelyn did not look at her. Josephine was right. One man’s word could not stop two nations from dealing with the threat of the Inquisition. Cullen’s state made it easier for them to find reasons to tear the Inquisition down, and tear him down along with it. Could she protect him? How many troops could she put between them and him? She felt shame coiling within her for that thought. How many men should pay the price for his protection? Her duty was to her soldiers also, was it not?

 

There was a tap on the door to the chambers then. An Inquisition soldier stepped in at Leliana’s command. “Your Perfection, Commander, the Inquisitor is awake.” The soldier’s voice was heavy with concern.

 

Evelyn’s chair was scraping the ground as she stood before his sentence even ended. She froze and looked pleadingly at Leliana.

 

“Perhaps we should take a recess,” Leliana said. “Go see to him, Evelyn.”

 

Evelyn nodded, leaving her documents behind as she rushed to the door.

 

+++++

 

Evelyn found herself running through the hallways with her armor rattling as her feet pounded on the floor. The guards by Cullen’s chambers saw her coming and stepped out of her way immediately. Evelyn stopped and caught her breath, opening the door slowly. Her eyes were drawn to the mirror above the dresser where they had made love after the opera. It had been toppled, its precious silvered glass shattered and scattered across the floor. A chair had been overturned and a brass bar that held up the drapes had fallen to the ground, the heavy velvet curtain pooled on the carpet like coagulated blood. Dog whined by the bed.

 

Cullen was in bed, where the sheets were in disarray, curled up with his hand holding his stump. He did not turn to look at her.

 

Evelyn steeled herself. “Call the healers,” she said to one of the soldiers, who hurried off. She stepped inside and saw a figure by the door inside the room.

 

Cole stood, holding his hands in front of him, the brim of his hat blocking his eyes. He looked up and met Evelyn’s eyes. “It hurts,” he breathed.

 

Evelyn nodded. “It will, for a while,” she said. “His heart is sound?”

 

“Heavy, broken, wavering, I should have stayed asleep. I feel it still. Is this real? _Maker, please…_ ”

 

Evelyn shut her eyes.

 

“Bird call from one valley to the next, searching, screaming, soaring on the fear. Tiny little thing with broken wings. Both of you.” She felt hand on her shoulder and shuddered as her steely stance wavered. She lowered her head. “I will hurry the healer along,” Cole went on.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Cole left her side, shutting the door behind him. Cullen had not stirred. Evelyn drew a breath and reached for her armor straps, pulling them off with quivering fingers. She dropped her breast and back plate on the carpet as she walked to the bed, then took off her bracers and pauldrons. As she stood beside the bed, she saw that Cullen’s eyes were closed. Still he had not stirred, merely holding the stump of his arm with its bloody bandages. His hair wa a tousled golden halo around his head, but Evelyn could see where it was tinged with white at the temples Another scar from the blasted mark. Evelyn sat down on the bed beside him and bent to remove her greaves. She let them fall to the floor. It was better like this. He did not need steel right now.

 

Her fingers interlaced, rubbing the back of her hands. Still, Cullen said nothing.

 

She wished he would. She wished he would yell at her, scream, do something! This was not her fault, but there had to have been something she didn’t do! Perhaps if they had found Solas quicker, if she had discovered the Qunari plot, he would never have had to use his mark so much.

 

Her hands hissed as they rubbed together. Evelyn turned to look at him. His eyes were open, looking up at her. He met her gaze for the briefest of heartbeats, then lowered his eyes and looked away; and Evelyn saw the shame in his wince. He turned to lay on his back, draping his arm over his eyes.

 

She leaned over him, resting her weight on one arm. Her fingers smoothed his tangled locks. “I’m glad you’re awake,” she said gently. “How are you feeling?”

 

“This can’t be real,” he croaked. “It’s another nightmare.”

 

She took his hand in hers and moved his arm from his eyes. He kept his eyes shut, tears glistening in the corners. She bent to kiss his lips lightly. “No, love,” she whispered, resting her forehead to his. His grip tightened desperately. His lip started to quiver and he pursed them as he drew a deep breath. She touched his face, cradling his cheek in her hand.  

 

“The important thing to remember now,” she said firmly as she watched him barely hold on to his composure, “is that you’re life is not in danger, unlike when you first came through the mirror. We have the best physicians and magical healers in the Chantry here. They assure me that it’s all gone now. The mark was drawing from your heart and had destroyed your hand. We tried everything we could to suppress it. Not even a Templar’s skill could break its hold on your heart.”

 

She had never felt so helpless in her life. A teardrop fell from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry, my love,” she whispered. “We tried everything. To leave the arm was to let the mark kill you. We couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t let you die.”

 

He wrapped his arm around her, clinging tightly as the tears fell in silence onto the pillow. He said nothing more, but she wasn’t sure he wanted anything said. She just held on to him, staring at the stump of his arm, bound in bandages and stained with blood from within. Cullen’s arm draped over her, his fingers entwining in her hair as he clung to her. His breath was a shaking rattle in his chest as she lay her head down on him. She heard his heartbeat’s nervous pounding, heard the small hitches as he cried. She wrapped her arms around him tighter.

 

Dog set his head on the bedside and whined. Cullen did not respond, and Dog whined louder. Evelyn watched Cullen turn to the mabari, who promptly climbed onto the bed and licked him across his tear-streaked cheek and eye. “Maker!” Cullen exclaimed, blinking the drool from his eye.

 

She saw the ghost of a smile on Cullen’s lips then as Dog promptly lay down with his head on Cullen’s face, his lip flopped back on Cullen’s cheek. Evelyn snuggled down on Cullen as well. “Want me to lick your other eye?” she asked as Cullen was pinned beneath wife and dog.

 

“Please, no,” he replied, moving his head out from under Dog’s.

 

She chuckled and reached up to wipe his eye, relief bubbling up inside her as she saw him smile. He looked at her ruefully. “I don’t understand, Evie. Did I not give enough?” he breathed, his voice quivering. “I gave everything I could to the Maker and this mad path he set me on.”

 

“I don’t know.” She clung to him tighter. “But you’re back now. You’re alive. You don’t have to give any more, not if you don’t want to. You don’t have to be a Templar anymore. You don’t even have to be Inquisitor.”

 

His jaw tensed. “Because I cannot even lift a shield anymore, let alone fight.”

 

“You’re my husband, Cullen. More than the Templar, more than the Inquisitor. You can go back home to be a brother to your siblings again, an uncle to Bran’s little one. Maybe a father too, if nature takes it’s course with us.” She held his face as his eyes met hers. Evelyn tried to smile despite her misty eyes. “You may never hold a shield again, but here’s the wonderful thing now - you don’t need to.”

 

++++++

 

Evelyn had helped him with his hair, since everything his good hand touched he fumbled with. He had never been this clumsy before, and every time he dropped his comb he bit back the urge to swear. Evelyn tactfully stepped in, commenting that she liked the touch of gray at his temples. The result of his time in the mirror, he surmised. He looked like a haggard, broken old man. She kissed him anyway when she was done, and sat hand in hand with him as the physicians changed his dressing.

 

He sat still as they worked, keeping his eyes averted from the arm. He wondered if he would ever be able to fight as well as he used to. The silence in his head was disconcerting. The voices were silenced now, whether by Solas’s will or Flemeth’s. Or perhaps they had gone with the passing of the Mark. He had no idea.

 

The pain was still in his arm. He couldn’t look at it, but it was as if he could feel it still there. The physicians had assured him that was alright. They gave him draughts to sleep should the pain get too great. Cullen refused to drink them. He asked for reports instead. Evelyn brought them, along with Rufus to write for him. Soon, others began to visit. They were all… calm about the arm. They spoke as if nothing changed, and pretended that more adventures awaited around the corner, once Cullen was back on his feet.

 

Cullen smiled along, laughed along, but he felt no joviality deep down. He couldn’t even comb his hair, let alone fight. And with Evelyn hovering nearby, her eyes betraying her concern despite her smile, he couldn’t let his true feelings show.

 

Varric and Dorian were recovering in the infirmary, and so could not come by to speak to him. Cullen made a mental note to visit them later. Once Leliana and Josephine came to visit, the bedroom turned into an impromptu War Council. Their discussion lasted long into the night until the candles burned low and Cullen’s window was the only aperture of light in an otherwise dark Halamshiral.

 

The following morning dawned clear and bustling. There were things to do, things decided upon the night before. The future was changing now. He dressed himself as best he could as Evelyn donned her armor. Cullen slipped the buttons of his formal uniform through their little eyes. “People will comment,” he said as she buckled on her pauldron.

 

“Full honor guard,” she said firmly, her blue eyes hard. “Let’s look the part, shall we?” She pulled on her horse-hair helmet, her expression grim. She walked up to him and her fingers went to his empty sleeve and started to fold it up. He stood still and waited as she neatly pinned the sleeve in place. She looked up at him. “Are you ready?” she asked.

 

He nodded.

 

Evelyn walked to a table and picked up a thick tome, emblazoned with the eye of the Inquisition. She handed it to him. Cullen took, looking down at the tome that had altered his life so greatly. He recalled the Divine’s face from the Fade, her body transfigured into light. Of such things were legends were born. There was no place for legends here, not when Solas posed so great a threat.

 

“Form up the men, Commander,” he said then. “I believe they have already begun.”

 

+++++

 

The honor guard marched through the palace around Cullen, Evelyn with her massive sword at his back. They strode to the council chambers, the voices carrying from within. Servants scurried out of the way at their approach. The nobles who loitered outside the chambers gave startled yelps and moved aside before bowing to his grim face. He did not return those bows, the crowd parting as they approached the doors. “...did not cause this threat,” Josephine’s voice carried. “We informed the summit of the danger.”

 

“The danger posed by Qunari spies in your organization,” came Teagan’s retort. Cullen would be pleased to leave that voice behind. The two columns of guards in burnished Inquisition plate marched ahead of them.

 

“Without our organization, you wouldn’t be alive to complain,” Leliana’s voice reverberated through the hall.

 

“No one is forgetting-- What is the meaning of this?!” The doors were thrown open. The guards marched in along the central carpet, armor and footsteps filling the air like drums of war. They turned as Cullen and Evelyn approached, hands raised in unified salute.

 

Teagan was on his feet then. His cheeks mottled and livid. “You bring soldiers into a chamber of peace before the Divine--” he sputtered.

 

Cullen stopped in front of the dais and met Leliana’s eyes. “Permission to address the Council, Your Perfection,” he said.

 

“It is a relief to see the Inquisitor back on his feet and on the road to recovery,” said Cyril smoothly.

 

Leliana nodded, seemingly unsurprised to see him.

 

“This is--” Teagan began.

 

Cullen held up the tome. “You all know what this is?” he asked as he raised the tome, cutting the man off as his voice carried over the hushed and watchful silence. “A writ from Divine Justinia, authorizing the formation of the Inquisition.” He turned to the crowd. “We pledged to close the Breach, find those responsible and restore order. With or without anyone’s approval. We have fulfilled that pledge, and now the war is over - for most of us.”

 

He caught Cassandra’s eye in the crowd, seeing her smile in approval. Cullen lowered the book. “For our soldiers, it is time for them to sheathe their swords and go home. And to all tho served,” he looked at Josephine beside him. “Thank you. It has been an honour.”

 

“This is most unnecessary!” Cyril exclaimed. “What of the assets--”

 

“All that the Inquisition owns belonged to the Chantry from the start,” Cullen cut in. “It is not my place to decide, nor the position of any within the Inquisition itself.” He turned to the table and placed the book before Leliana. “Our work is done. It is my recommendation that the Inquisition be disbanded.”

 

And the protests from the council rose as the crowd burst into a startled hubbub. Leliana stood up, and a hush fell over the room. “We thank you, and all the Inquisition, for your sacrifices in restoring order and doing the Maker’s work. Let none say that the Maker was absent in the Inquisition’s labours, that their quest was not blessed by the Maker himself from the beginning. Effective immediately, the Inquisition is disbanded.” She set her hand upon the tome.

 

She met his eyes, bearing the might of the Chantry in her stance. “Go forth and know that you carry the Maker’s blessing with you, Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Herald of Andraste and blessed among the Maker’s children.”

 

Cullen bowed to the rolling murmurs of the crowd and turned from the dias. He strode out with the honor guard marching beside him, leaving it all behind - the politics, the concessions, Teagan’s stupid face… Everything. That was not his world any longer. Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Herald of Andraste, was merely that - a symbol that he hoped would be forgotten as time went on. He had no place in legend as a grumpy, one-armed man. Andraste could have picked a better Herald.

 

Evelyn fell into step as he passed her. “Our new War Council?” he asked.

 

“The chamber is ready,” she said. “We will convene once the Council’s loose ends are tied up. Even without the Inquisition, we have what we need for what is to come.”

 

The memory of the figure in the mirror, wrapped in wolf fur and armor that glinted in the shimmering light of the mirror came to mind. “Good,” he said. “We have work to do.”


End file.
